


Flowers for Foxes

by imaginedestiel



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - High School, Bad Jokes, Bullying, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It's the 90s, Multi, Sexual Harassment, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-07 08:25:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 96,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginedestiel/pseuds/imaginedestiel
Summary: "Clubs, girls, dancing, naked, Mom?! Argument, police, fleeing the scene, hiding in a dumpster, crashing on your couch for a week because technically I’m homeless~”Michael and the gang all attend Fox River High School. It's going to be a crazy year.





	1. Chapter 1

Michael Scofield was the new kid in school. After a dozen moves to a dozen different cities, he was used to being the outcast. His head told him it wouldn't last. Eventually, his family would stay in one place, the right place, or he would find it himself. His heart told him differently. When friends left just as quickly as they'd came, Michael believed it wasn't moving that made him undesirable. Yet whatever made him _him_ resisted any attempt at change.

The tip of his pencil broke as he thought about it, leaving craggy chunks of graphite on the white and gray of his sketchbook. He felt someone hovering over his shoulder.

"Did you draw that?"

Michael took a deep breath and all the noise and fluttering bodies of the cafeteria came back to him. He spared a glance at the girl behind him, tall with long brown hair covering the flowers on her blouse. "Yes," he replied, and started cleaning the smudge he'd made.

"It's really good," she said.

Michael set down his eraser and reassessed his work. A few sketchy lines formed basic angel wings. It wasn't nearly what he'd envisioned.

"It's awful," Michael said, "but thanks."

The girl frowned for a second and ran a hand through her hair. "Well, um, you seem busy, but if you want someone to sit with—" She pointed to her friends who waved from a few tables over. "My name's Sara."

He nodded and Sara started to walk away before he recognized the opportunity. He stood and called, "Wait!"

She turned back around. "Yeah?"

Michael glanced at her giggling friends once more before tearing out a page of his sketchbook. "Here."

Sara took it, a hesitant smile on her face.

Michael smiled back awkwardly. He said, "You can keep it, or throw it away—I'm probably just going to start over..." He trailed off as her smile grew. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "My name is Michael."

Sara held the page delicately and replied, "Thanks, Michael." He watched her go back to her table before realizing he was still standing. Giving the cafeteria one last look, he settled down with his sketchbook and started drawing again. Someone plopped themselves across from him. Michael didn't look up from his work.

"Hey!" came a voice working way too hard to be gruff.

Michael fixed his brows together and took in the stranger before him, a round-faced boy with dark hair, his red letterman jacket making him look bulkier than he actually was. The boy held a finger at him.

"Have you been talking to my girl?"

Michael focused his attention on the tip of one of the angel's feathers. "If you mean Sara, then I'd have to say no."

"Yeah? And you didn't give her nothing, neither?" He grabbed Michael's sketchbook and flipped it around. "What even is this?"

"Give that back," Michael ordered, teeth gritted.

The other boy grinned, cheeks turning pink in his glee. He thumbed through the pages before tearing out a ream and ripping it in half, then again, and again before Michael was leaping over the table to save his artwork. They were both on the floor before he knew it.

"Give it to me!" Michael yelled, the other wriggling beneath him. He managed to tear another page.

"Art is for pansies!"

Michael thought there was nothing more stupid he could have said, and would have said so had he not been otherwise preoccupied. He snatched the corner of the book, a portrait of his dad wrinkling and ripping under his own hand.

"Bellick!" shouted a man's voice. The boy scrambled away and upright, leaving Michael with scraps and a bent sketchbook as a uniformed man came over, broom in hand. "What are you doing?"

Bellick stuttered over an answer as the mustached man pushed the broom into his hands. He turned to Michael and asked, "Are you alright?"

Michael's breath came hard, eyes burning as he peered at all the laughing faces and silent awe around him. He wiped his face and strode out of the room, laughter growing stronger in his absence.

In the bathroom, he tried to steady himself, breathe deeply and relax—it was just lines on paper, he could do if again—couldn't he? In a panic, Michael flipped through what was left of his sketchbook: the hand position practice, the half-finished Millennium Falcon, a lazy doodle, and then... blank paper. Michael squeezed his eyes shut, begging not to be found like this unless by some miracle Lincoln walked through the door. Lincoln who'd graduated with the oddest mix and match of credits from four different schools and states two years before.

Michael stayed put in his bathroom stall until he could breathe again. The bell rang and he stepped out into the hallway with his sketchbook tucked tightly under his arm, nearly bumping into the janitor in his rush.

"Hey, kid," said the mustached man, "I scraped these up for ya."

Michael blinked at the pile of scraps in the man's hand and took them shakily. "Thank you," he muttered.

"Word of advice," he replied, "Brad Bellick's a scaredy cat. Just mention my name next time."

Michael’s lips quirked to the side. "And that is...?"

"Charles. But most people call me Cooper." The man leaned on his broomstick and whispered, "I know Bellick's mom."

Michael managed a smile, though the paper remnants in his hand were starting to weigh on him again. He told the janitor thank you and dumped his ruined artwork in the trashcan next to the physics classroom once he was out of sight. Behind him, someone crossed the hallway and let their curiosity get the best of them.

* * *

Michael laid low for the rest of the day. First days were always hard, but rarely did someone destroy something so precious to him. The final bell rang and Michael moved with the flow of the hallway, head down and hands tucked into his jeans. He pushed through the school’s front doors and trotted down the stairs as a sleek black car pulled up to the sidewalk. Michael frowned and tugged his backpack off his shoulder before getting in the car.

“I thought Lincoln was picking me up,” he said.

Christina Scofield shrugged and started driving towards home. “He had to work.”

Michael nodded and hugged his backpack close.

“How was your day?” Christina asked, her focus on the road.

“Fine,” Michael said.

“And by _fine,_ you mean you’re going to pretend you don’t have a bruise right here?” She reached over and pressed her thumb into a red spot on his cheek. Brad had elbowed him in the face, albeit by accident.

“Ouch! Mom!”

Christina turned the touch into a loving caress and Michael pulled away. She returned her hand to the wheel and raised her eyebrows. “You know the punishment for lying, Michael.”

“I wasn’t lying,” he insisted.

“Sure,” she said, “and Lincoln definitely had to work today.”

Michael narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you mean?”

Christina pressed the brake as they approached a stop sign and turned to Michael. “You first.”

Michael scowled. “Some kid tore up my sketchbook.”

“Hm. Maybe now you can focus in class instead of spending all your time drawing.”

Michael held his backpack even tighter to cover the hurt in his chest. “I told you, Mom, it _helps_ me focus.”

She shrugged and they continued through the traffic towards home.

“Your turn,” Michael muttered.

Christina smirked. “Something tells me Lincoln’s ‘work call’ was the work of little Veronica.”

Michael glared out the window, unsure if he was mad at Lincoln for the betrayal or his mother for suggesting Lincoln would do such a thing. They drove through a winding neighborhood to a tall and skinny red brick house, the yard hosting a big apple tree and a worn, white porch. Michael went straight to his room once he got the front door open. He plopped his backpack in the corner and himself on the bed and waited for Lincoln to come home. Christina poured herself a glass of wine in the kitchen.

* * *

Two hours passed before Lincoln came home, covered in grease and sweat from head to toe. Downstairs, Michael could hear his mom lecturing him.

“Lincoln, you reek!”

“It’s not like they’ve got a shower at work, Mom!”

“But you weren’t at work, were you?”

“…I don’t have time for this.”

“Dodging the question.”

“ _Nagging over nothing,”_ Lincoln countered.

“Disrespecting your mother!”

“Fuck off.”

Michael flinched at the obvious _slap_ of Christina’s hand on Lincoln’s cheek.

“Go take a shower.”

A moment passed and Lincoln stomped up the stairs to find Michael waiting for him at the top. “Don’t hug me yet,” he said, “I’m all sweaty.”

Michael fought a smile and followed him to the bathroom. Lincoln stripped off his dirty tank top as Michael asked, “How was work?”

Lincoln smiled slyly. “Fine. Veronica’s car broke down again. I told her she didn’t have to pay me but she insisted.”

Michael nodded. Of course Lincoln wouldn’t leave his girlfriend stranded somewhere, and Mom did pick him up… Michael pointed to a red mark on Lincoln’s neck. “Did she pay you in kisses?”

Lincoln laughed. “A few.” He pulled out a stack of cash from his back pocket. “You eat yet?”

“I’m starving.”

Lincoln clapped a hand to his little brother’s shoulder. “Then we’re getting out of here tonight. Here.” He handed the money to Michael. “Put it in the college fund. I’ll be out in a few.”

Michael brightened and scurried off to his room as Lincoln shed the rest of his clothes and hopped in the shower.

* * *

“Jump in,” Lincoln said.

Michael climbed into the passenger seat of Lincoln’s truck as Lincoln walked around to the driver’s side. “You think Mom will be mad?” he asked.

Lincoln pulled the door shut behind him and said, “I hope she is. Shows her I can take care of you better than she can.” They backed out of the driveway and sped down a curving street out of the neighborhood. Michael fidgeted with his hands.

“She never hits me,” he said, sounding guilty.

Lincoln reached over and took Michael’s hand. “That’s a good thing, Mikey. If she ever does I’m taking you and we’re moving without her.”

Michael studied Lincoln’s hand in his and nodded. He watched the trees fly by.

“What do you want to eat?” Lincoln asked.

Michael sighed. “I don’t really want to be seen by anyone.”

“Something happen?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

Lincoln was quiet, thinking. “Alright. How about burgers and fries and our favorite spot?”

Michael grinned at him. “That sounds perfect.”

Lincoln gave Michael’s hand a squeeze before pulling the truck into a drive-thru.

* * *

Night fell over the city of Fox River, littering the sky with stars and the air a slight humidity. Crickets chirped as Lincoln and Michael ate their burgers in the bed of an old white truck. They'd found the grassy hill overlooking the city during the summer, and it was a place where they could be honest and alone together, away from whatever troubles home or work or school brought.

“You want me to pick you up tomorrow?” Lincoln asked.

“Yes, please,” Michael said with a mouthful of fries.

Lincoln pointed at him, half-eaten burger in hand. “You know you could use some of the college fund for a car. I know a guy who can get you a good deal.”

“That’s your money, Linc. I couldn’t.”

Lincoln smiled like he knew something Michael didn’t. “Drink your milkshake,” he directed.

Michael brought the shake to his mouth and made an obnoxious sucking sound with the straw. “All gone,” he declared.

Lincoln stuffed the last of his burger in his mouth and washed it down with soda. “You really were hungry,” he said. “Did you eat lunch?”

Michael shook his head and wiped his mouth on a napkin.

“Mikey,” Lincoln scolded.

“The cafeteria food looked gross, okay? And I wasn’t hungry then.”

“Too nervous?”

Michael ran a hand over the short fuzz on his head. “Yeah.”

Lincoln gathered up their trash and laid down to look at the stars, Michael soon following. “Did you meet anyone?” Lincoln asked.

“Yeah.”

“Could you be more specific?”

Michael nudged Lincoln’s side at the sarcasm. “A girl named Sara.”

“Oooh,” Lincoln teased.

Michael nudged him again. “She said I could sit with her.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Linc, you know I’m not good company.”

“That’s not true at all.” He put his arm around Michael and pulled him against his side. Michael laid his head on his chest and sighed.

“I also met a janitor named Cooper.”

Lincoln chuckled. “What was he like?”

“Nice. Old. He had a pretty neat mustache.”

“Guess you’ll have a closet to hide in if the opportunity presents itself.”

“Hey,” Michael said, sitting up to look down at Lincoln, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just, you know. If you can’t outrun a fight, there’s lots of supply closets.”

Michael made a face as Lincoln smirked. “I also met a boy named Brad,” he said.

“Yeah?” Lincoln asked, raising his brows.

“He was a big jerk.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“I was just hoping you’d meet a nice boy for once,” Lincoln said, and rubbed Michael’s shoulders.

“I’ve met nice boys,” Michael countered.

 Lincoln pulled Michael against his chest again. “You know what I mean.”

Michael closed his eyes. “I don’t think Mom would approve of it,” he murmured.

“Listen, Michael,” Lincoln began, hugging him close, “What matters most to me is your happiness. If Mom doesn’t approve, then she can just—”

“ _Linc,”_ Michael interrupted.

Lincoln rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I’ll protect you. Okay?”

Michael smiled. “Okay.” A few moments passed in the quiet, only crickets and rabbits rustling in the bushes.

“Hey, did you see that?”

“See what?” Michael asked sleepily.

“A shooting star. C’mon, man, you didn’t see it?”

“My eyes were closed.”

Lincoln smiled softly. “Of course they were. Let’s get you home.”

“A few more minutes,” Michael pleaded.

“Nope. You need sleep.” He sat up and took Michael with him.

“Linc!”

Lincoln slid his legs over the side of the truck bed and hopped down, dragging Michael’s now limp-on-purpose body by the arms. He slipped an arm under Michael’s legs and carried him to the passenger seat, Michael protesting along the way.

“Lincoln! Come on!”

Lincoln bounced Michael in his arms, testing his weight and irking his little brother to no end. His hands held Lincoln’s leather jacket in a death grip.

“If you drop me, I swear—”

“What?” Lincoln let him go and caught him in the next instant, drawing a squawk from Michael. He fought his way out of Lincoln’s arms and shut himself in the truck before crossing his arms over his chest. Lincoln leaned over the open window.

“C’mon, Mikey, I was just playing.”

Michael grabbed the window’s crank handle and started rolling it up.

“I love you,” Lincoln called as the window shut halfway.

Michael stopped briefly. “Love you too.” Then, “Hurry up.” He rolled the window up the rest of the way. Lincoln started the car and drove them home.


	2. Chapter 2

Michael woke up early for school the next day. He took a shower to warm his body and relax his nerves, hoping he wouldn't continue to be a source of entertainment for his classmates. He had a blueberry muffin for breakfast and was about to head out the door when his mother stopped him.

"Michael!" she called.

He froze with his hand on the door, then slowly turned around. "Yes, Mom?"

Christina looked drowsy in her wrinkled night robe—hungover, Michael was sure—but she just held out her arms for a hug. Michael gave her one, glad for the affection.

"Be a good boy at school, okay?" she told him, fingers moving soft over his short hair.

"I promise."

She lifted his chin off her shoulder and scrutinized him. Michael stayed very still.

"Sometimes you sound just like your father,” she told him.

Michael smiled just as the words tore a hole through his heart. A year since his father passed hadn't made his absence any easier.

Christina pushed him away abruptly and said, "Don't be late, now. I don't want to have to drive you."

Michael tugged his backpack over his shoulder. “Of course, Mom. See you later.”

She gave him a little wave as he walked out the door. The bus stop wasn’t far and Michael enjoyed the cool breeze against his face. It made it easier to think when things were quiet and he was alone. When the bus came he picked an empty seat and scribbled in one of his lined notebooks, missing the bare white pages of his old sketchbook. The chatter on the bus grew so loud as more passengers arrived that Michael put his headphones over his ears and set his Walkman to play where it left off. Luckily no one sat by him.

English passed by without too much heavy reading, and Algebra was much too easy for him, and then World History almost put him to sleep even though he had some interest in the subject. If they could get past chapter one of the textbook, that would be nice.

“Looking forward to _Ancient Civilizations_ , I take it?”

Michael looked up and to his left. A boy in a blue pullover was staring at him expectantly. “Huh?” Michael uttered.

“That’s what chapter two is. _Ancient Civilizations._ ”

Michael blinked and realized he must’ve voiced his thoughts out loud. “Yeah, haha.”

His classmate tilted his head and smiled, brown eyes focused intently on him. “My, you are much prettier without your nose in a book.”

Michael’s eyes widened and he looked away without meaning to, right at page seventeen, which was unfortunately _still_ chapter one. His classmate gave a small laugh.

“Hey, it’s a compliment. Not that reading isn’t as sexy as, well, other things…”

What an accent! Michael felt like his face was on fire. He couldn’t look at him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“I’m Theodore,” he said, “What’s your name?”

“Michael,” Michael said, and ventured a glance back his way. “Nice to meet you, Theodore.”

Theodore’s smile stretched across his face and he bit his lip. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

The bell rang and Michael stuffed his belongings into his backpack and rushed out of the classroom, cheeks burning.

* * *

Lunch was next. Michael found an empty table and munched on an apple he’d thought to pack, considering how hungry he’d been the night before. It wasn’t long before Sara and her friends came over with trays of food and purses disguised as bookbags.

“Hi, Michael,” Sara said, “May we sit with you?”

Michael scanned over her friends, three girls of different heights and colors and styles, a polite smile appearing on his face. “I’d be delighted if you did.”

Sara beamed and sat across from him, the apples of her cheeks rosy and soft. She poked at her salad with a spork and wore a grimmer expression as she thought of what to say. “I’m really sorry about yesterday,” Sara confessed.

Michael waved it off even though there was no recovering from nearly crying in front of an audience. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, but…” She leaned over the table slightly. “Brad and I have been friends for a long time, it’s just lately he’s started to act like that. I’m sorry.”

Michael smiled softly.

“So…” Sara turned and dug something out of her shoulder bag. “I got you this. I didn’t see what brand yours was, so I hope this is okay. Sofia said it was good.”

Sara’s friend Sofia nodded. “It’s the one I have. It works for pencils, pens, paint—”

Michael stared at the sketchbook in Sara’s hands in utter awe. “You got this for me?” he asked quietly.

She grinned and offered it to him again. He took it carefully.

“This, this is… Perfect, thank you,” Michael said.

“It was nothing,” Sara replied, waving her hand.

Michael couldn’t stop smiling and Sara’s friend Sheba giggled, but the situation was quickly recovered by Katie. “Y'all want some chips?” she asked, “I brought a big bag.”

The chips didn’t last very long, but the others who’d brought food chipped in, and Sara offered her leftover fries to whoever wanted them. When they were done eating, Michael and his new friends doodled all over the first page of the new sketchbook.

"Make sure you sign it," he told them.

"You just forgot all our names, didn't you?" Sheba joked.

Michael smiled coyly and went around the table with a finger pointed at each of them. "Sheba, Katie, Sofia, Sara—" he stopped abruptly, smile falling right off his face. "Brad."

Brad Bellick stood ominously behind Sara with his arms crossed. He leaned over her and demanded, "Why are you sitting with him?"

Sara looked shocked by his behavior. “Because I wanted to,” she said.

“You never sit with me,” he said.

Sara crossed her arms back at him. “Your friends aren’t nice to me.”

Brad shuffled his feet before gesturing to Michael. “And he is?”

Sara lifted her chin. “Yes.” Then, “You used to be my friend. I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. I’d be happy if you sat with me and my friends…”

Brad had tuned out as soon as he saw the sketchbook lying in the center of the table. He moved to pick it up and Michael snatched the book and held it close to his chest. Brad smirked.

“Looks like you got yourself another one. You must really love art.”

Michael tensed as he came closer. Brad held out his hand.

“Lemme have a looksee.”

“Brad, this isn’t funny,” Sara cut in.

“I _said_ , let me see it,” Brad insisted.

Michael stood slowly and tugged his backpack over his shoulder. “I’d rather not.”

Brad gritted his teeth and said, “I wasn’t askin’.”

Michael thought a second and then took off running.

“Michael!” Sara called.

Brad was after him in the next instant, not bogged down by a backpack or a sketchbook tucked tight under his arm. Michael ran out of the cafeteria and into one of the neighboring buildings, thoughts racing too quickly to ask anyone for help. In his head he only saw hallways, doors, bathrooms, pipes, stairs, _elevator—_

Michael looked over his shoulder and saw Brad several feet behind him. If he turned the corner _now_ and disappeared into the elevator, he should be able to lose him! Michael weaved through an oncoming crowd of students just in time to turn the corner, and the elevator was _open,_ no, _closing—it was closing right before his eyes!_ He ran so fast he couldn’t stop himself and slammed into the wall of the elevator car once he’d slipped past the closing doors. He was safe.

“You okay, kid?”

Michael jumped and realized there was another person in the elevator, along with a stack of crates holding textbooks on a dolly. Michael tried to catch his breath and pretended he hadn’t just been rubbing the sore spot on his shoulder. “’m fine,” he murmured.

The brown-haired boy adjusted the glasses on his nose and faced Michael more squarely. “It looked like you were running from someone.”

“No, I just didn’t want to be late for class,” Michael said. He couldn’t help but feel scrutinized under the calm, quiet gaze. He took his backpack off his shoulder and tucked away his sketchbook.

“So you won’t mind if I push this button that you’ve neglected?” He held his finger over the button for the second floor.

“No—” Michael blurted. By now Brad might have figured out his trick. He could be waiting in front of the doors upstairs. Michael sighed, exhausted and still listening to the sound of his heart beating wildly in his ears. “Sorry I lied. I was running from someone.”

“Is this your first year?” he asked.

“First year here,” Michael told him, “Second year of high school.”

“Ah.”

Michael swallowed the lump in his throat as the other looked him over, as if his new observations would support the sophomore conclusion.

“This is going to sound silly,” he said, “but I’m head of the track team. Maybe you’d like to try out.”

Michael’s lips parted and then he laughed. “You think I could outrun him if he finds me in here?”

“No, not if you’re trapped,” he said simply, “but maybe I can help you.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Take these.” He took off his glasses and placed them on Michael’s face. For a moment Michael could see the other's face clearly and then everything became blurry. “And this.” He stripped off his black blazer and handed it to Michael. Michael hesitated. The older boy smiled.

“It should fit right over your sweater,” he advised.

Michael nodded and put it on, leaving the other boy in just his white dress shirt and slacks. He rolled up his sleeves and pressed the button for floor two.

“Now, when we step out, walk right beside me. We’re going to drop these books off at Mr. Pope’s classroom and then I’ll walk you to class.”

Michael’s body flooded with adrenaline as the elevator started moving. “Won’t you be late for class?” he asked.

The doors dinged open and the other gestured for him to follow after he’d maneuvered the books out of the elevator. “I don’t mind. I’ll just say I was showing…”

“Michael Scofield,” Michael filled in.

“…around. The teachers like me. Well, most of them. It’s just down the hall to the left.”

Michael walked alongside him, a quiet awe filling his chest. He spotted Brad scouring the hallways and sped up his pace a little. His new friend seemed to notice.

“Hey, it’s alright. Just act natural.”

“What if he sees me?”

“I won’t let him hurt you. Who is it anyway?”

Michael tipped his head in Brad’s direction. The other boy looked perplexed.

“Him? He doesn’t bother—well, I guess he can be annoying, but he’s not really the _bully_ type—”

“Well, he chased me all the way from the cafeteria,” Michael said grumpily, “and he destroyed my sketchbook.”

Something registered on the older boy’s face and he asked, “That was you?”

Michael glanced away, embarrassed. How easily he’d given that away. Stupid!

The older boy ran a hand through his tousled hair and pointed to their destination. They slipped into the classroom and Michael helped him unload the textbooks from their crates for the elderly Mr. Pope. They left and the boy asked, “What’s your next class?”

Michael unfolded a wrinkly schedule from his pocket and announced, “Chemistry, room two-thousand twenty-two.”

The other boy smiled and said, “Oh, that’s not far at all. Can you see with those on? You’re squinting at me.”

Michael laughed despite the pink in his cheeks and gave the glasses back. They reached his chemistry classroom when Michael remembered the borrowed blazer he was still wearing. “Here,” he said, and moved to take it off.

“Just—hold on to that for a while,” the other boy said, grasping the lapels of it to keep it on Michael, “Wouldn’t want to let anyone in on our little gamble.”

Michael grinned sheepishly. “Right. Thanks. When should I give it to you?”

He looked thoughtful. “How about at track tryouts tomorrow?”

So he really wanted him there. Michael tried to act cool, saying, “Yeah. Sure. See you then.”

The other boy held up his hand to say goodbye just as the bell rang. Michael dashed into class, thoughts swirling.

* * *

The school day ended without any more Brad Bellick encounters. Michael raced down the school’s front steps and into Lincoln’s white truck. Lincoln smiled when he saw the stupid grin on Michael’s face.

“So how was school?” he asked, and started driving again.

“It was crazy, Linc. I don’t know where to begin.”

Lincoln laughed a little. “Are you hungry?”

Michael hummed. “Only a little. I ate lunch with Sara and her friends.”

“Hey, that’s great!” Lincoln clapped a hand to Michael’s shoulder before grabbing the wheel again.

“It was,” Michael said happily, and dug out the sketchbook from his backpack. “She got me a new one.”

Lincoln glanced at it and furrowed his brows. “What happened to your old one?”

“Oh, well. Yesterday Sara’s friend Brad tore it up. That’s why I was upset.”

“Oh,” Lincoln breathed. “I’m sorry, Michael.”

“It’s okay,” he said, and smoothed his hand over the cover of the sketchbook, “New year, new art.”

Lincoln nodded and glanced at his truck’s dashboard. “We’re low on gas, so I’ll give you some cash and you run in and get me a hot dog, okay? You can get whatever.”

“’kay. So after Sara gave me the sketchbook, Brad came over, acting all tough, and tried to take it from me.”

“What?”

“I know! So I ran away and he chased me.”

“How big is this guy?”

“I don’t know, bigger than me. Anyway, I hid in the elevator, but there was already someone in there.”

“Who?”

Michael opened his mouth to say and then realized he didn’t get the other boy’s name. “Actually, I don’t know. But he’s the head of the track team, and he let me borrow his glasses and jacket so I had a disguise when we got out.”

Lincoln looked skeptical. “Did it work?”

“Yeah! After we dropped off some books, he walked me to class so Brad couldn’t get to me.”

Lincoln smiled. “Sounds like a stand-up guy. Is he letting you keep this?” He reached over and tugged on the blazer.

“I’m giving it back to him tomorrow at track tryouts.”

“You’re gonna join track?”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll just watch.”

“Mikey…”

“What?”

Lincoln pulled up to the gas station and turned off the engine. “You should try out. And if you don’t like it, quit later, but don’t miss out on the opportunity.”

Michael put away his sketchbook as he thought it over. “Alright. You liked playing football in high school, didn’t you?”

Lincoln opened his wallet and gave Michael some money. “Yeah, it was fun. Could’ve done without the concussion, though.”

Michael smiled and patted Lincoln’s shoulder. “I’ll be back. You want a slushie?”

“Blue raspberry,” Lincoln said, and shut the door behind him as he went to fill up the tank.

Michael entered the gas station and headed for the slushie machines. He picked out two medium Styrofoam cups and filled the first with blue raspberry until the dome lid was full. He filled his halfway with piña colada and the rest with cherry.

“Cherry, huh?”

Michael shut off the machine just in time to keep his slushie from overflowing. Leaned up against the peeling wall beside him was Theodore from his history class.

“It’s a nice color. Makes your tongue all red.”

Michael smiled even as the words made his heart race. He popped the straw into his drink and held it out to him. “Would you like a taste?”

Theodore tilted his head, wicked grin lighting up his face. “I’d love one,” he said, and sipped from Michael’s drink, brows furrowing. “That is not cherry,” he determined. “Is it… pineapple? No, piña colada.”

Michael nodded and took back the drink.

“I like you,” Theodore said, “Mixin’ it up. Is that your boyfriend out there?”

“B-boyfriend?” Michael’s face bled red. “That’s my brother.”

“Ah, of course. My mistake.” Still he smiled.

“I’m—I’m going to buy a hot dog,” Michael sputtered.

Theodore walked alongside him with his hands in his pockets. Michael stopped at the counter and turned to him.

“Do you want one?”

Theodore pulled out his pockets to show they were empty.

“I’ll get you one,” Michael decided, hoping Lincoln wouldn’t mind. They were only a dollar-fifty. A man in a grill apron approached the counter and Michael ordered three hot dogs.

“Thanks, Pretty.”

Michael blushed and adjusted the blazer he wore, feeling warm in all his layers.

The griller came back with three hot dogs in paper trays and directed them to the condiments at the end of the counter. Michael did Lincoln’s up with a little of everything and put ketchup on his. Theodore smothered his with mustard and started eating it right away. He finished it in two and a half bites.

Lincoln honked from outside.

“That’s my brother,” Michael said, tipping his head towards the truck.

Theodore pressed his lips together and nodded.

“See you tomorrow,” Michael said.

“See ya.”

Michael started towards the exit and then spun around when he remembered to pay for the slushies. Theodore chuckled from a few feet away.

* * *

“What took you so long, Mikey?”

Michael hopped in the truck and handed Lincoln his blue raspberry slushie and hot dog. “I ran into a classmate. I bought him a hot dog. Hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah. Did you get his name this time?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Theodore.”

“Fancy,” Lincoln said, and drove them towards home.

“He seems really nice,” Michael told him.

Lincoln slurped his slushie and set the drink back in the cup holder. “Good, Mikey. I’m glad you’re meeting some new people. Do me a favor and hold this for me.” He handed the hot dog back and opened his mouth wide.

Michael smiled and held the hot dog up to Lincoln’s mouth. His brother chomped down on it and grinned, a blob of ketchup in the corner of his mouth. “Mm,” he hummed, chewing contentedly. “Thanks, buddy. Again?”

Michael ate a bite of his and then held out Lincoln’s. The truck swerved a bit as Lincoln craned his neck to eat it.

“Linc!”

“Don’t worry,” he insisted, eyes returning to the road, “Everything’s under control.”

Michael took a deep breath and sipped his slushie. “Maybe you should pull over for a couple minutes.”

“Have a little faith, bro,” Lincoln said, and opened his mouth again. Michael groaned and fed him the rest of the hot dog. They made it home safe and sound.


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, Michael was able to get ready and go before Christina even woke up, the taste of coffee still fresh on his tongue as he walked to the bus stop. Somewhere in the neighborhood Lincoln was taking an early morning jog, and it made Michael smile, thinking of him. He wondered what his classmates did in the morning, if they needed an alarm or a parent to wake them up, if their families ate breakfast together. His first two classes passed by in a breeze of daydreams and mindless notetaking. The third would prove a little more interesting.

Michael made it to World History and waited for Theodore to sit beside him, working up the courage to say hi. It really shouldn’t have been that hard, but when the other boy had called him “pretty” more than once… well, Michael could try to be a little more social if it meant finding a real friend.

Theodore made it inside the classroom just before the bell rang, cringing a bit as he sat down. He tipped his head towards Michael, a smile on his face only long enough for Michael to see, and then it was gone. Their teacher started lecturing about when the test would be for chapters one through three as Michael watched him. Theodore shifted in his seat, and shifted again after a few minutes, bounced his leg up and down nervously, and wound his fingers through the hair that didn’t want to lay flat on his head, knuckles bone white.

“Are you alright?” Michael whispered.

Theodore looked at him and closed his eyes. “Fine.”

Michael sat back, unsure what to do with that answer. The teacher finished her announcements for the week and sat down at her desk, having assigned the class to finish chapter one and the review questions by the end of the hour. Michael turned to his textbook and read quietly for a few pages.

“Michael?” Theodore called softly.

Michael looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“What do you think about… ditching class for a few minutes?”

Michael raised his eyebrows. He turned his body towards Theodore and asked, “Is it really ditching if it’s only for a few minutes?”

“Exactly,” Theodore said, pointing at him. “If you’re as serious about that textbook as I think you are, a few minutes shouldn’t matter.”

Michael studied him, then replied, “Alright, I’ll bite. Where would we go?”

Theodore gripped a lock of his hair tight and then ruffled it back into shape. “I don’t know, the nurse?”

Michael thought there must be something up that the other boy didn’t want to talk about, not that he’d never been in a similar situation. “Okay,” he said under his breath, “How do we both go at the same time?”

Theodore bit his lip and threw his hands in the air. “I have no idea.”

Michael nodded and went to the teacher’s desk after a few minutes. “I forgot my insulin,” he said, “Could I go to the nurse?”

The teacher gawked at him. “Of course! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I need someone to show me where the nurse is,” Michael said.

“I can do it, Ms. Kirkwood,” Theodore called, charming smile on his face.

“Okay, Bagwell, go with Michael,” said the teacher, “but no goofing off. I want you back in ten minutes.”

Theodore stood and held the door open for Michael. They shared a smile on the way out.

As they walked down the hallway, Theodore said, “I didn’t know you were a diabetic.”

Michael laughed through his nose. “I’m not.”

Theodore stopped and gaped at him. Michael chuckled and turned to look back at his stunned face.

“I didn’t take you for a liar, Pretty,” Theodore said, and walked alongside him again.

Michael shrugged. “You needed me to, didn’t you?”

Theodore was quiet until they got close to the nurse’s office. “How long has it been since we left?”

“Just a couple minutes,” Michael answered, brows drawn together.

They went inside and Theodore leaned over the counter, speaking quietly to the nurse stationed there. “Hi, I was wonderin’ if I could lie down for a while?”

“Sign in,” the nurse said, and pushed a clipboard towards him. Theodore scribbled his name down and a reason for the visit and gave it back to her.

“Fatigue and fever, hm? Alright, come on back. I’ll take your temperature.”

“I’d really just like to lie down.”

“It won’t take more than a moment.” She looked to Michael. “What do you need, sweetie?”

“Oh, just…” Michael fought over which fake illness to cite. “A headache. Can’t think.”

“I’ll get you some painkillers. Follow me.”

Michael followed behind Theodore as the nurse led them into the back room. She prepared a thermometer for Theodore and held it pinched between her fingers. “Open up,” she said.

Theodore made a face and tried to take it from her, saying, “I’ll do it.”

The nurse pulled the thermometer from his grip, annoyed. “I’m the one in charge here, Mr. Bagwell,” she said, “So you better start listening.”

Theodore glanced at Michael and then replied, “I just don’t like getting poked.” He opened his mouth and shut it over the thermometer. The nurse turned and went to a cupboard, where she shook a couple pills into her palm and gave them to Michael.

“Thank you,” he said, eyeing Theodore. A minute passed in awkward silence and the thermometer beeped. The nurse took it from his mouth and read, “One hundred. That’s a little high. Why don’t you lie down over there and I’ll bring you some water and ibuprofen?”

Theodore nodded and went to the slim bunk with a cot for cushioning. The nurse called over her shoulder to Michael. “You can go back to class, sweetie.”

“Thanks again,” he said, and went to Theodore’s side, placing his hand on the other boy’s shoulder. Theodore peered at him questioningly and Michael dropped the painkillers the nurse had given him into Theodore’s hand. “I hope you feel better,” he whispered.

Theodore relaxed against the cot and closed his hand around the pills. “Thank you, Pretty. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

Michael rubbed his shoulder and nodded. “Yeah.” He went back to class alone and his teacher noticed.

“Where’s Bagwell?” she asked, standing at her desk and putting her hands on her hips.

“The nurse thought he looked sick and wanted to check him out,” Michael said smoothly. “You can call her and check if you want. He’s got a fever.”

Ms. Kirkwood studied him for a moment and relented. “Alright. Go back to your seat,” she said.

Michael sat down and tried to give his attention to the rambling textbook in front of him. His eyes passed over the words but his mind was stuck on when he might see Theodore again.

* * *

Michael looked for Theodore at lunch. When he didn't find him, he sat with Sara and her friends and listened to them talk about the homework they'd forgotten about, boys that had caught their eye, and how much they already missed summer vacation. Brad waited until Cooper had left the cafeteria with two bags full of trash to approach their table. Sara stood up and blocked him from coming any closer.

"This needs to stop," she said.

Brad opened his mouth to argue and Sara interrupted him, her voice low and stern.

"Either you sit with us and we can all be friends, or you go back to your buddies and stop bothering us. I mean it."

"Sara," he protested.

Sara crossed her arms. "You're telling me you can't be friends with him? Not even for me?"

Brad stared her down for a second and huffed. "Fine.” He tipped his head towards Michael. “Scoot over."

Michael moved his chair closer to Sara's and Brad rolled his eyes.

"Other direction, dumbass."

"Hey," Sheba said, "Not cool."

Brad shared a glance between everyone at the table, their eyes hard and guarded before he grumbled and sat in between Michael and Katie. The girls sat in awkward silence as Sara rejoined them. Michael munched on an apple. Brad cleared his throat.

"Sorry about your drawing book," he said.

Michael blinked and set down his apple. He didn't know what to say.

"Some of it looked okay, art-wise," Brad said. 

"Thanks," Michael muttered. Sara caught his eye and smiled at him. He smiled back and turned to Brad. "So how long have you known Sara?"

He puffed out his chest a little. "Since fourth grade. You remember Mrs. Smith?" he asked.

Sara nodded, her mouth full of pizza. She covered her mouth and said, "We both cried about  _Bridge to Terabithia_."

"Me? Cry?" Brad joked, big grin on his face.

"You? Read?" Katie teased. Michael laughed through his nose.

" _Ha ha_ ," Brad said sarcastically. “I’ll have you know Sara and I were in the advanced reading circle.”

Sara smiled, memories from so long ago resurfacing in her mind.

“Your favorite was _Shiloh_ , right?” Brad asked her.

She nodded. “Do you know what it is now?”

“Hmm. _Romeo and Juliet?”_

“Nooo,” she teased.

“The one about the rich guy who threw parties,” Brad guessed.

“Nope.”

Michael felt out of place sitting between the two as they had a conversation without him. He stood to make a trip to the restroom.

“Michael! What’s your favorite book?” Sara asked.

Michael smiled and replied, “ _The Outsiders_.” He set off a chain reaction of, “That book is so sad!” and “Did you see the movie?” as he walked away, promising to be back in a minute. The restrooms were in a hallway attached to the cafeteria, and Michael bumped into a shorter boy leaving the restroom as he turned the corner.

“Sorry,” Michael said.

The boy wiped his mouth on his sleeve and left in a rush. Michael opened the door to the restroom and found himself face to face with Theodore.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Theodore said, a grin on his face. He moved to the side to let Michael in.

“It is the only restroom in the cafeteria that I’m aware of,” Michael replied, and then realized he could have said something that didn’t make him sound like a smartass. “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

“Much,” Theodore said, and Michael noticed a bit of sweat on his brow, the pink in his cheeks. His eyes trailed lower.

“Your fly is down,” Michael said.

Theodore gave a nervous laugh and did up his zipper. “Oopsie.” He took a step closer to Michael. “Say, what are you doing later?”

“I’ve got track tryouts,” he said.

“Too bad,” Theodore replied, “I thought we could go do somethin’.”

Michael lifted his chin. “Such as?”

“You know where Miller Meadow is?”

“I think so.”

“There’s a river nearby. We could drink beer and catch frogs or somethin’.”

“As long as we don’t eat the frogs,” Michael teased.

“And why would I do an uncivilized thing like that, Pretty?” Theodore said, resting his arm on the paper towel dispenser. His eyes were dark.

Michael swallowed, regret stopping any words from coming out of his mouth.

“Just kidding, Pretty. You gotta fry ‘em first anyway.”

Michael took a shaky breath and said, “Right.”

Theodore smiled and pushed himself upright. “Well, I’ll see ya later then. Sure you got some business you’ve been waitin’ to do.” He gestured to the urinals.

“Right,” Michael said again, and laughed awkwardly. Some bathroom break. Theodore left as Michael came to terms with having a date later.

* * *

In Spanish, Michael recited the alphabet for the umpteenth time that week, but at least now he knew he wouldn’t forget it. His desk partner happened to have a not-so-secret secret.

“You’ve known Spanish this entire time?” Michael asked.

“Hey, could you keep it down? I’m not trying to get kicked out,” Fernando said.

Michael pressed his lips together, trying to get over the utter betrayal. He lowered his voice. “But why are you taking Spanish if you already know it?”

Smoothly, Fernando answered, “For the credits, bro. Universities like that sort of thing. And it’s an easy A.”

Michael raised his brows. “I can’t argue with that.”

Fernando sent him a glistening smile before the teacher asked them to conjugate _ser._

“Too easy,” he muttered, pencil going to work on a sheet of paper.

Michael made a face. “I can’t think with that alphabet song stuck in my head…”

Fernando scooted his chair back so he could put a condescending hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, bro. Practice makes perfecto.”

“I know you can’t just add ‘o’ to make it Spanish,” Michael said.

“That _is_ perfect in Spanish.”

“Oh,” Michael said.

“Exactly.”

They shared a glance and burst into laughter.

* * *

After an hour of Architecture, Michael threw his backpack over his shoulder and headed down to the football field. He spotted his friend from the elevator among a group of other athletes, and Michael thought _athlete_ was the best way to describe him as his eyes trailed over muscular arms, a black tank top stretched across his chest, and the thick headband keeping his hair off his face. Michael stepped onto the red track and listened quietly as the other boy gave a pep talk.

“I want you all to do your best,” he said, “There’s no reason you can’t all be a part of the team. In fact, if enough of you are interested, we shouldn't have a problem starting a cross country team. Can I get a show of hands?"

A few of the boys raised their hands and Michael cleared his throat. "What's the difference?" he asked.

Some of the boys scoffed. Michael's savior smiled and said, "I'm glad you asked. Track is run right here." He pointed to the track. "Or at other schools. Cross country can be held on any terrain."

Michael nodded and smiled back at him. The other boy pulled timers out of his bag and handed them out to each of them.

"Remember to drink water," he said, "and don't throw up. Just one lap to start with."

The boys chuckled as Michael stood there, confused. Some of them took off running, others spread out and stretched. A hand stopped Michael before he could figure out what he should do.

“I’m glad you could make it. I’m Alex, Alexander Mahone.”

Michael breathed a sigh of relief. That was one question he wouldn’t have to ask. The hand on his shoulder returned to Alex’s hip. “Sorry for the dumb question,” Michael said.

“Dumb? You think these boys are expert track runners?” Alex laughed a little and directed Michael to look at the bleachers. “Half of them are here to impress the girls.”

Michael scanned over the girls, smile slipping when his eyes fell on Theodore. The other boy gave a little wave.

“Something wrong?” Alex asked.

“No,” Michael told him, “I just didn’t expect my friend to be here.” He waved back.

Alex followed his line of sight with narrowed eyes. “T-Bag, huh?”

“Theodore,” Michael corrected.

Alex looked over Michael, taking in his soft features and pretty pink lips. “You should be careful around him.”

Michael met him with furrowed brows. “Why?”

Alex shrugged. “I’ve heard stories, that’s all. You ready to run?”

Michael jogged in place. “Yeah.”

Alex grinned and slapped his shoulder before taking off running. Michael did his best to keep up, but the view a few feet behind Alex was not one he’d condemn. They were only three-fourths around the track when Michael thought he would melt into a puddle from sweatiness.

“Rock,” Alex called back.

“What?”

Michael stepped down hard on a jagged piece of rock and found himself face to face with the red track. Alex came running back to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Fine, fine,” Michael said, and tried to stand up. Pain spiked through his ankle and he sat back down, defeated. “Never mind.”

“Did you twist your ankle?”

“I think so.”

“Alright. Give me one moment.” Alex picked up the chunk of rock and chucked it into the gravel surrounding the track, then stooped next to Michael. “Put your arm around me.”

Michael thought his heart fluttered, but it could have been beating that way from the unusual amount of exercise. Alex helped him up and they got off the track.

“I’m gonna sit you down on the bleachers and then get you some ice, okay?” he said.

Michael nodded. “Thanks.” He sat on the bottom row of bleachers and waited for Alex to come back. He returned with an ice pack and a couple of waters.

“Drink,” he said, and handed Michael a bottle.

Michael unscrewed the cap and nearly spilled it on himself as Alex worked off his shoe. “Ouch!”

Alex tried to hide his smile and asked, “Where does it hurt?”

Michael pointed to the outside of his ankle. “Here.”

Alex held the ice pack in place, Michael’s leg extended across the bench. “You’re going to want to rest it for a while,” he said matter-of-factly.

Michael frowned and asked, “Does this mean I’m off the team?”

Alex looked up from his work and smiled. “No. Consider this your first taste of cross country.”

Michael snorted. “Some taste.”

Alex shook his head and looked out over the football field. “There shouldn’t be anything on the track. Hopefully that was the only one.”

“I didn’t notice any others.”

“You didn’t notice the one you stepped on, either.”

Michael’s cheeks filled with red. Did he know he’d been looking at him?

Alex opened his mouth to say something else when Theodore plopped himself on the bench above them. “Saw you take a tumble, Pretty,” he said, “Are you alright?”

Michael was embarrassed to say the least. “Yeah, I’m fine. But I probably can’t catch frogs with you later.” He gestured to his ankle.

“Pity,” Theodore said, his tongue peeking out between his lips. Then, “You got a little scrape right here.” He wiped Michael’s bleeding cheekbone with his thumb and brought the finger to his mouth. Alex tried to keep a straight face. Theodore wiped his thumb on his worn-out jeans and made grabby hands for the ice pack. “Why don’t you let me do that? You enjoy being the hot shot team captain.”

Alex held the ice pack out away from him, and away from Michael’s aching ankle. “Sorry, did you take Sports Medicine?”

Theodore gritted his teeth, enunciating each word. “It’s an ice pack.”

“It’s the second step taken for a sprained ankle. Do you know the rest?”

Theodore was silent. He started to walk away.

“Theodore! Wait!” Michael called.

Theodore whirled around and demanded, “Why’s everyone treat me like I’m stupid, huh? Is it the accent?”

Michael shook his head and Theodore continued, a shaking finger pointed at Alex.

“I’ll have you know I know _all_ the words in the dictionary _and_ thesaurus! In order!”

“Impressive,” Alex said.

Theodore grabbed him by the throat. “Say one more goddamn word and I’ll choke the life out of you,” he warned.

“Enough!” Michael yelled. They both jumped. He lowered his voice to its usual tenor. “Let him go, Theodore. Now.”

Slowly, Theodore released him, leaving Alex gasping and rubbing his throat. Theodore’s shoulders shook as he turned back to Michael.

“Sorry, Pretty. My temper’s thin today. See you tomorrow?”

Michael took a nervous breath and let it out slowly. “Uh huh.”

Theodore brushed his hand against Michael’s back as he left the bleachers. Michael watched him for a few anxious seconds, then leaned towards Alex.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yup. Peachy.” Alex cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. “He’s a sociopath.”

“He was sick earlier,” Michael informed him, the warm feelings he had for Theodore still lingering.

“Are you in the habit of making excuses for people who hurt others?” Alex asked.

Michael’s eyes fell to his lap.

“Sorry,” Alex said quickly, “I’m sorry. I’m sure he’s been nicer to you than me.” He picked up the ice pack from where he’d dropped it and held it to Michael’s ankle.

Michael didn’t feel like talking much after that. Alex wrapped up his foot and ankle and was about to prop it up with Michael’s backpack when Michael remembered the whole reason for coming to the tryouts in the first place.

“Your jacket’s in my backpack,” he said.

“My—? Oh, right. May I…?” He tugged on the backpack’s zipper and Michael nodded. Alex took out his blazer and folded it neatly before glancing back at him.

“Is it too much to hope that you’ll stop by tomorrow?” he asked.

Michael smiled slightly. “If you don’t mind me being temporarily disabled.”

“I don’t think it will be a problem,” Alex replied, smile growing as he said it.

Michael gave him a nod and watched as he gathered the other boys to review their times. Tryouts ended for the day and Alex came back over.

“You got a ride home?” he asked, sipping his water.

“My brother,” Michael cheered. “Now that I think about it, I’ll have to walk a ways to meet him.” The front office was on the other side of the school.

“There’s actually a golf cart right over there,” Alex told him, and took the keys out of his pocket, jingling them teasingly. Michael grinned.

“Let’s go.”

Alex helped Michael up and down the track a few feet before they settled into the golf cart. A few boys came trotting over, saying, “I twisted my ankle too!” and, “Lemme get a ride!”

Alex looked over his shoulder as he turned the key in the ignition. “Sorry, boys,” he called, “This one’s taken.” And he drove off like the golf cart was a shiny sports car, tires shrieking and engine puttering away.

* * *

“Who was that?” Lincoln asked.

Michael hopped in the truck and shut the door behind him. “Alex.”

“Alex…?”

“Alex from the elevator.”

“Ahh.” Lincoln glanced at Michael’s bare foot, his sock and shoe clutched in his left hand. “What happened there?” he asked.

“A rock,” Michael grumbled, “but I guess I’m still on the team, if I want to be. How was your day?”

Lincoln rubbed the back of his neck. “It was alright,” he said. “Not a lot of repairs today.”

Michael nodded and looked out at the passing buildings and trees. He turned back to him. “At least you’re not covered in car grease,” he offered.

Lincoln smiled and gave Michael’s shoulder a squeeze. They pulled into the driveway and Lincoln helped Michael to the couch in the family room. He turned on the TV for him and gave him the remote. “You want a turkey sandwich?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” Michael said.

Lincoln went to the kitchen and asked, “Find anything yet?”

Michael scrolled through the TV channels. “Twenty-one Jump Street.”

“Definitely an option. What else?”

“Star Trek,” Michael offered.

“Ehh… You want a pop?”

“Yeah. There’s something called The Flash,” he said.

“Like the superhero?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Michael set the channel and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched a man in a red suit run around and around a track a thousand times over. “Show off,” Michael muttered.

Lincoln was about to bring their sandwiches to the family room when Christina emerged from her office, arms crossed and face stern as she stood by Michael.

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

"I tried out for track," Michael replied.

"And why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought I did," he said, "Lincoln knew where I was."

Christina came closer, looming over Michael. "You think Lincoln is a suitable replacement for me? _Lincoln?"_

Michael's mouth ran dry. "Well, he picks me up most days, and we came home right after—"

Christina held up her hand and Michael flinched. "I don't want to hear any more back talk from you. Outside. Now."

Michael started to move, a hurt expression on his face.

"Mom, he's got a twisted ankle," Lincoln said, sandwich plates in hand and two cans of soda pop tucked under his arm as he came to stand by Michael. "He needs to rest."

"What he needs is my concern," Christina countered, "and I say he needs to be disciplined. Out, Michael."

Lincoln set down their afternoon snacks and put his arm around Michael, who couldn't move very well on one leg. "I've got you," Lincoln whispered, "Don't worry."

"He can do it himself," Christina told him.

Lincoln glared at her and Michael assured him, "I'll be fine." Lincoln let him go and watched as he straightened out and hopped to the backdoor. Through the glass window Lincoln could see him sit in one of the patio chairs and prop his leg up on another. He whirled around, rage growing stronger by the second.

"Michael is not sleeping outside," he said, barely keeping his voice at an acceptable volume.

Christina sat in a high-backed chair next to the couch, posture like a queen. "What I say goes," she said simply. 

"It's a school night!" Lincoln argued.

Christina fluffed her curly hair and turned her eyes to the television.

"He's too old for you to treat him like this," Lincoln said, "He lets you because he loves you."

Her head swiveled back towards him. "So why don't you let it be, Lincoln? If it's an act of love."

"Because I love him!" he shouted, and stormed out the backdoor, taking the sandwiches and pops with him. Christina locked the door behind him. 

Lincoln knew that he should have expected it to happen, that Christina would have her way no matter what he did. He put their food down on a glass table and banged on the door. Christina drew the curtains and walked away. Michael sighed.

"Don't worry, Michael," Lincoln said again, "I'll find a way. Just eat your sandwich."

"Not hungry," he murmured.

Lincoln clenched his jaw and walked across the yard to the side gate. There wasn't anything stopping him from getting a motel for the night... Except a padlock. Okay,  _jump the gate,_  he thought. But Michael couldn't jump the gate, and Lincoln's keys were still inside. Defeated, he walked back to Michael, who quickly wiped his face.

"Hey, hey, hey," Lincoln called, kneeling beside him, "It's alright, everything's okay."

Michael's lips wobbled. "I— I didn't tell her, Linc. About the tryouts. I thought she wouldn't let me go and now you're stuck out here with me..." He took a sharp breath. Lincoln cupped a hand to his cheek.

"Mikey, I'd rather spend a year out here with you than one day inside with her. Don't let her get to you. You didn't do anything wrong."

Michael tried to smile for him, a hand clutched around his wrist. "Are we really stuck?" he asked. 

"Yeah, buddy."

"Did you check the garage?"

"...Good idea." Lincoln stood and went to the garage's backdoor and jiggled the handle. "It's locked," he announced.

"There should be a key underneath the flower pot," Michael replied. "The green one."

Lincoln looked at the gathering of buckets and ceramics they had yet to fill with plants since the last move. Michael had painted the green one with squiggles and blobs when he was five. There was a key underneath it.

"Bingo," Lincoln said, and opened the garage door. He strode inside and tried the door connecting it to the house. Locked. Lincoln was tempted to break off the knob with a hammer. Instead, he turned around and surveyed all the stuff they had piled in boxes and tubs. There was one labeled CAMPING. Lincoln couldn't help his grin.

He freed the tub from its stack and hauled it outside before plopping it in the middle of the yard. Michael watched curiously as Lincoln went back to the garage and returned with another big tub.

"What did you find?" he asked.

Lincoln dusted off his hands and put them on his hips. "A tent," he declared, and popped off the lid to the first tub, "and sleeping bags."

Michael smiled and reached for his sandwich.

Lincoln went to work setting up their campsite. Michael had finished his sandwich by the time he was done and offered Lincoln half his soda.

"Nah, you drink it," Lincoln said as he sat down, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"You need it," Michael insisted.

"I got one. You can spray me with the hose if I need to cool down."

Michael laughed, bright and loud.

"What? I was serious," Lincoln replied.

Michael's laughter turned to quiet snickers. "You don't have a change of clothes."

"I can't be naked in my own backyard?" Lincoln questioned.

Michael laughed again. "I would prefer you not be."

Lincoln pulled the tab on his soda, sly smile on his face. 

They talked for a while about school and work, the birds and lizards in the backyard, what they should do over the weekend. Night fell and the two climbed into the tent. Michael took the sleeping bag on the right and fluffed the old pillows Lincoln had unpacked. Lincoln zipped up the entrance and tried the flashlight he’d found. It flickered to life after shaking it a few times. Lincoln held it under his chin and did his best evil laugh. Michael giggled.

“You wanna hear a scary story?” Lincoln asked.

Michael crossed his legs carefully and replied, “Why not?”

“Once upon a time—”

“Scary stories don’t start with _once upon a time_ , Linc.”

“Well, this one does, so shut up. Once upon a time, there were two brothers walking through a graveyard at night.”

Michael tilted his head, listening to Lincoln’s voice among the chorus of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves.

“They thought it would be fun to stay there overnight, so they brought sleeping bags and a tent. As they walked through the graveyard, looking for the perfect spot to set up for the night, shadows kept appearing in the corners of their eyes. Whenever they tried to look at them, the shadows disappeared.”

“Spooky,” Michael said.

“Yeah,” Lincoln said. “So the brothers ventured deeper and deeper into the graveyard, thinking it was just their eyes playing tricks on them. But then they saw a light like an angel, hovering above the ground. The younger brother didn’t want to get any closer, but the older brother insisted they check it out. After all, it was probably just someone with a couple lanterns messing with them…”

“Keep going,” Michael urged.

“So the older brother went by himself, leaving the younger one behind with the camping supplies.”

Michael’s hand twisted in his sleeping bag.

“The light got dimmer and dimmer with every step. Soon the older brother couldn’t see anything there at all. He called to his brother, saying, there’s nothing here! But the younger brother didn’t respond.”

“What happened to him?” Michael whispered.

“The older brother looked everywhere for him, but there wasn’t a sign of him. Even the tent was gone.”

Michael waited silently.

“But then the light appeared again. The older brother ran to it, and just before the light went out he heard a crunch beneath his feet. He stepped back and saw old flowers on the ground, and a grave in front of him. The headstone was for his brother.”

“No,” Michael said.

“Yes,” Lincoln replied, “He’d died ten years before and never left.”

Michael laid down on his sleeping back, lips pouting. “I don’t like that story.”

Lincoln shrugged. “I thought it was pretty good.”

“But the younger brother _did_ leave,” Michael argued, “The older brother couldn’t find him.”

“Okay, who said I was finished?”

Michael shut his mouth and waited.

“After discovering the truth, the older brother slept in the grass next to the grave, filled with grief and regret. If only he’d listened, he never would have found the grave… Morning came and the older brother woke up inside the tent, next to his brother, who was alive and stuffing his face with uncooked s’mores for breakfast.”

“What?”

“The younger brother told him he’d been acting strange the night before, and that he talked in his sleep all night. The older brother realized it was all a dream and hugged his brother tight. The end.”

Michael smiled. “Thanks, Linc.”

“’course, Mikey.”

“I wish we had some s’mores,” he said.

“Me too.”

Michael slipped into his sleeping bag and Lincoln did the same. “I wish Mom loved us,” he said.

Lincoln sighed. To say the opposite would be a lie.

“I wish I didn’t have to pee right now," Michael said.

Lincoln laughed. “Go, buddy. No rules in the wild.”

Michael groaned and crawled out of the tent. When he came back, Lincoln had turned on his side. Michael went to his sleeping bag and tried to sleep. The wind shook the trees outside and Michael shivered.

“ _Linc_ ,” he whispered.

“Whaaat?” he moaned.

“I’m cold.”

Exhausted, Lincoln turned over and unzipped his sleeping bag. Michael curled up next to him and Lincoln zipped them up again, his arm around Michael in the just-big-enough sleeping bag. They closed their eyes and went out like a light.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the comments and encouragement! Hope you enjoy <3

Michael woke up to a very annoying and persistent beep-beep-beep-beep. Sweaty and cramped, Michael kicked at his cocoon of blankets, only to realize he was still in a tent in the backyard and he'd jostled Lincoln into a rude awakening. Beep-beep-beep-beep.

"Turn that off," Lincoln growled.

Michael twisted in the sleeping bag till his arms were free. It was his watch alarm. "What day is it?" he asked.

Lincoln turned and smashed his head against his dusty pillow. "Stop talking, Mikey."

"Is it Thursday?" Michael demanded.

Lincoln huffed and thought about it. "Yes."

"I'm going to be late!" Michael fumbled for the zipper pull and flung the sleeping bag open. He stood up and stepped down hard on his right foot. "Erghh!"

While Lincoln didn't care that much for school, he knew it was important to Michael. He sighed. "I'll drive you. Don't worry about the bus."

Michael set his foot down gingerly after rubbing out his ankle. "It's not the bus I'm worried about." He peeled open the tent and walked up to the backdoor of their house. Still locked. Michael banged on the door. "Mom! Mom, let me in! I'm sorry!"

Lincoln followed him and put a hand on his shoulder when there was no answer. Michael's lips sank at the edges in what Lincoln knew would be followed by misty eyes if he didn't do something quick. "You want pancakes for breakfast?" he asked.

"But school," Michael said.

"Look, you're already going to be late, right?"

Michael checked his watch. "Yeah."

"So be a few more minutes late with a full belly," he reasoned, reaching to tickle Michael's stomach. Michael squirmed in his arms.

"Aha! Linc! I can't run away—this isn't fair! Hahaha! Alright, let's get pancakes—" Lincoln let go of him and Michael could breathe again. "Phew!" He reached for Lincoln's sides but was stopped by an iron grip on both wrists.

"Nice try, buddy. No tickling the hand that feeds you." Lincoln smirked as Michael tried to poke at him anyway. "You've got to work on your upper body strength," he remarked.

Michael scoffed. "I'm gonna be able to run faster than you soon. That's something."

"Sure..."

Michael gave up struggling and asked how they were going to get the pancakes in the first place. Lincoln took the tubs that held their camping supplies and stacked them by the back gate, then jumped over. From the other side, he said, "I'll catch you on your way down."

Michael climbed up the tubs unsteadily and called to him, "Maybe we shouldn't."

"Mikey, Mom can't be mad that you wanted to go to school. C'mon. I have to figure out the car situation somehow..."

Michael chewed his bottom lip and put one leg over the gate, then the other, and hopped into Lincoln's arms.

"Oof!" Lincoln uttered.

Michael rolled his eyes as Lincoln set him down. He knew he was on the slim side. Lincoln grinned slyly and said, "I know. We'll walk over to Veronica's."

"You don't think she'll mind?"

"Look at me, Mike. You don't think she'll be delighted to see this face?"

Michael looked at his handsome face, the eyes that always changed colors and his goofy smile. He patted Lincoln's back. "If she is, I just might start believing in miracles."

Lincoln gasped. He said, "I was going to carry you there, but if you don't want to be seen with your hideous brother..." He started to walk away. Michael limped after him, calling, "Linc, wait!"

Lincoln stopped halfway down the driveway and cupped a hand to his ear. "What was that?"

"You're the most handsome brother I have!"

Lincoln shook his head and turned around, walking back to him as he said, "I'm the only brother you have."

Michael grinned. "Exactly."

"Dork." Lincoln turned and squatted so Michael could hop on his back. He made a gruff sound as he stood up, Michael's arms around his neck and legs at his sides as they journeyed down the block to Veronica's house. Michael tried not to cut off Lincoln's air as he found himself slipping through Lincoln's grip. They made it without any further injuries. Lincoln set Michael down carefully and rang the doorbell. A pretty dark-haired woman answered the door.

"Hi, Lincoln," she said in her slow drawl. "and Michael. What brings you here?"

"That's going to take a little explaining. Mind if I come in?" Lincoln asked.

Veronica gave him a knowing look and ushered them both inside. She set them up with coffee at the kitchen table while Lincoln told her about their camping trip.

"I'll make it up to you, I swear," Lincoln said. "Just for the morning."

Veronica ran a hand through her hair. "Well, if Daisy can give me a ride to work, that's fine. But can't you just take him now and bring the car right back?"

"The thing is, I promised him pancakes."

Michael blushed. "Linc, it's okay."

"A promise is a promise," he insisted, and made puppy eyes at Veronica. "Do you have any mix? Pretty please?"

"I don't have any mix," she said.

"Oh."

"But I do know how to make pancakes from scratch."

Lincoln brightened.

"Listen, Lincoln, I'll make them for you—"

"Thank you!" he said, leaning over to kiss her. She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Michael sipped his coffee.

"But I want a real date. Take a day off from work, okay? I can see it's wearing you out," Veronica told him.

Lincoln thought about the money he'd lose for the college fund.

"Please tell me this isn't a hard decision, Lincoln."

"Of course not," he said, smiling. "A real date it is. I'm assuming you won't work the night shift either?"

Veronica hid her face and smacked his arm. Michael felt like hiding himself. Lincoln covered her face and neck in kisses before she was finally able to disentangle herself and get the pancake ingredients together. He sent a triumphant look Michael's way.

"Things have a way of working out for you, don't they?" Michael asked.

"You betcha," Lincoln replied, and turned his gaze to Veronica.

"I don't know about you," Michael said, standing up from his chair, "but I'm going to help her make them."

"Have fun," Lincoln called.

Michael laughed under his breath and asked Veronica what he could do to help. She directed him to the blueberries in the fridge. Michael washed them as Veronica asked, "It's been a while since I last saw you. How's school? Did you meet anyone new?"

Michael smiled. "I met a few new people..."

"And? Any takers?"

Michael plopped blueberries into the mix Veronica made. "We'll see."

* * *

Michael finally made it to school during third hour, and took his seat next to Theodore as the class pretended to read the textbook. Theodore pushed a note onto his desk.  _Party hard last night?_

Michael furrowed his brows and wrote,  _Why?_ He passed it back to Theodore.

 _Same shirt you wore yesterday,_  he wrote. Michael wondered how he could tell and Theodore pointed out a small blood stain from when he'd scraped his cheek. Michael smiled despite himself.  _I don't want to talk about it,_  he wrote.

Theodore gave him a look like  _oh, come on,_ and Michael went back to reading the textbook to show he was serious. The note landed back on his desk a minute later with a drawing of him in stick figure form, a widow's peak acting as his distinguishing feature. Michael smiled at it and drew a stick figure with a sparse goatee. Theodore laughed lightly and scribbled something else down.

_You know it's picture day, right?_

Michael stared at the words in horror. "You're kidding," he said.

"Michael," the teacher warned.

Michael looked up at her and shut his mouth, then glanced back at his friend. Theodore shook his head.

Michael rubbed his head. His clothes were wrinkly and he hadn't had the most restful of sleeps. Surely it would show in his pictures. He turned to Theodore and gestured for the piece of paper. On it, he wrote,  _Do I look okay?_

Theodore took it back, smiled at him slyly, and wrote,  _You look pretty, Pretty_. He turned the page to show Michael.

"Are you passing notes?" Ms. Kirkwood demanded. Michael's heart froze as she stood and strolled towards them. "Perhaps you'd like to share with the class..."

Michael looked to Theodore with a panic in his eyes. The whole class would know—and they'd call him pretty or worse and never let him hear the end of it! The teacher loomed closer and Theodore crumpled up the note and shoved it in his mouth, chewing voraciously.

Ms. Kirkwood's jaw dropped. Michael stared at him in awe as the flush of pink in his cheeks died down, embarrassment quelled. Theodore swallowed hard and licked his lips. "Yum," he said.

Ms. Kirkwood folded her arms. "Detention," she declared, "Both of you."

Michael's face fell. That wouldn't bode well with his mother. And Lincoln would have to pick him up later...

"Miz Kirkwood," Theodore said in his most charming voice, "I was just showing Michael some doodles."

"I'm sure you were," she said sourly. "Detention for both of you." She turned and went back to her desk as Theodore covered his smile. Michael rubbed his temple and stayed quiet for the rest of class. The bell rang and Theodore had to walk fast to keep up with Michael's pace.

"Hey, detention's not so bad," he said.

Michael took a deep breath and sighed. "I don’t care about detention."

Theodore looked him up and down as they wove through the crowd to get to the cafeteria. "Speak, Pretty."

Michael wasn't mad at Theodore so much as the situation. "My mother won't be happy," he said lowly.

"And your father?"

Michael stopped in his tracks. He could see the gears rewinding in Theodore's head as the silence grew.

"My father's dead," Michael said softly, blamelessly. He couldn't expect everyone to know.

Theodore chewed his lip as he thought of something suitable to say. He leaned against the wall of the hallway. "Just blame it on me."

"What?"

"The detention. Say that Bagwell kid dragged you into trouble."

Michael smiled at him. He wasn’t likely to blame it on someone else. Michael asked, "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"How do you mean?" Theodore teased, as if eating paper was a regular occurrence for him. His eyes glistened mischievously.

Michael's smile widened and he tipped his head towards the lunch room. "Let's go eat."

* * *

Lunch was drawing near an end when Michael spotted Alex at a table with a few other juniors and seniors. Sara and her friends had been a bit apprehensive at Michael’s request that Theodore sit with them, but with a few well-placed compliments he was able to charm them like he had Michael. Brad, on the other hand, was a little annoyed at the perceived competition the two provided.

Michael slipped away to talk to Alex, his ankle still a little tender, making it so Alex saw him coming before he got there. The older boy pulled out a chair for him and gestured for him to sit. Michael spared a glance for the others at the table and took the chair gladly.

“How’re you holding up?” Alex asked.

“Fine,” Michael said, “The wrap helps.”

Alex smiled proudly.

“I wanted to tell you I won’t make practice today,” Michael said.

Alex ran a hand through his hair and said, “Oh, why’s that?”

“Well, I…” Michael lowered his voice. “I got detention.”

Alex laughed a little. “How did you manage that?”

Michael laughed too, knowing what he was about to say was ridiculous. “Passing notes.”

Alex clucked his tongue, saying, “Shame on you, Michael. My track team can only have the best… Kidding! Don’t make that face. Here, I’ve actually got something for you.” He tugged his backpack off the back of his chair and pulled out something in a sheet protector. He handed it to Michael.

Inside was Michael’s drawing of a birdhouse, the torn-up pieces taped together from the back. Michael’s lips parted, speechless. It was almost perfect. Alex tried to downplay what he’d done.

“It was fun putting the pieces back together,” he said, “A bit like a puzzle. You’re an excellent artist.”

Michael tried to hold back tears. “Thank you _so much_. This is… amazing.”

Alex just smiled and said, “See you around, kid.”

Michael nodded and took his artwork back to his seat, careful not to make a big show of it so Brad wouldn’t be tempted to ruin it. Theodore took a sip from his juice box and pointed at the page. “What’s that?”

“Just something Alex gave me,” Michael replied, still enthused.

Theodore’s face grew hard. “You two givin’ gifts? Tradin’ favors?”

“Favors?” Michael said sharply, “No.”

Theodore mellowed as soon as Michael snapped at him. They were both grateful the bell rang.

“See you later, Pretty.”

“Bye.”

They parted ways.

* * *

Everyone had their pictures taken during the next class period, and Michael was pleased he didn't look too scruffy in his. Fernando, on the other hand, looked _guapo_ and _alegre_ —at least, Michael hoped he was using the new adjectives right. They had to describe each other and everyone had already used _cómico_ or _alto,_ so Michael based his observations on Fernando’s smile.

When the school day ended, Michael made his way to Mr. Pope's classroom, where Fernando had informed him that detention was held. Theodore was waiting outside the door, casually leaning against the wall.

"Got a question for you, Pretty," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to go to detention? Yes or no."

"No," Michael said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Okay," Theodore replied, and spun around and pulled the fire alarm. Michael gawked at him. Theodore grabbed his hand and took off running before he could protest. Loud footfalls filled the hallway as teachers came out of their classrooms, skeptical looks on their faces. It was worse than running from Brad Bellick and somehow more exhilarating. Theodore grinned widely at Michael when they'd escaped the school. The slightest bit of regret filled Michael as his ankle rejected the exercise.

"What now?" he asked.

Theodore's rebellious hair flopped to one side as he caught his breath. "How 'bout we catch those frogs?"

Michael smiled. "Why not?"

* * *

Lincoln drove to the normal spot to pick Michael up, only to find him not there at the usual time, and not there twenty minutes later. He shut the truck door behind him and went to the front office.

"I've been waiting to pick up Michael Scofield," he told the robust woman at the front desk, "but he hasn't shown. Do you know where he is?"

"Are you a parent or guardian of Michael?" she asked. 

Lincoln weighed his answer and said, "Guardian. He's my little brother."

Mrs. Saturn typed something into her computer and told him, "Looks like your brother got detention."

Lincoln's face was positively outrageous. "Detention?" he repeated.

"Unfortunately," said Mrs. Saturn.

Lincoln raised his brows and then asked, "When will detention be out?"

"Three-thirty."

Lincoln rubbed his head. "Alright, I'll wait."

Mrs. Saturn offered him a smile and a lollipop from a floral jar on her desk. Lincoln took one.

* * *

Theodore and Michael took a bus to the park by Miller Meadow. It was daring, especially since Michael was unfamiliar with the area, and he liked to plan every aspect of his day if he could. But Theodore was confident, had been there a million times before, and still had six beers chilling in the river. He led Michael to a secluded spot where the vegetation formed a tiny pond, told him to get comfortable and he'd be back with their drinks. Michael sat in the grass and marveled at how odd the day had already been.

Theodore returned a few minutes later beer-less, fists clenched, jaw set. Michael tensed.

"Damn kids!" Theodore yelled, practically shaking.

"What happened?" Michael asked softly.

"They stole 'em! All of them! Oh, I could kill 'em—"

Michael stood and put his hands on Theodore's shoulders, and something in the other's face changed. "Take a deep breath," Michael said, "It's alright. We can still have fun."

Theodore did what Michael said and relaxed. His voice was so calming. "You're right," Theodore replied. They both sat in the grass, looking out at the river beyond the pond. The shade was cool and quiet and Theodore tuned out the sounds of the teens having fun with his hard-earned alcohol. Besides, he had someone beside him who was a little more interesting than a bottle of beer.

"Truth or dare?" Theodore asked.

Michael propped himself up with his arms behind him. "Dare," he said.

"I dare you..." Theodore looked around and settled on the pond in front of them. "To kiss a frog."

Michael made a face at the thought of a slimy green amphibian on his lips.

"Unless you're too chicken," Theodore teased.

"I'm not chicken," Michael said, and rose to his feet. "I just have to catch one first."

Theodore tipped his head to the side and smiled as Michael leaned over the pond.

"Make sure you got your balance there, Pretty. Wouldn't want you to fall in."

"Yeah, yeah," Michael said, and peered into the murky water. A few bubbles appeared and Michael thrust his hand into the water. He came up with a handful of mud. Theodore burst into laughter as Michael shook off the muck, clearly grossed out.

"Try again!" Theodore cheered.

Michael huffed and squatted down to get a closer look. His reflection stared back at him, frustrated line between his brows. And then he smiled with an idea. Michael put both hands in the water and stood up with palms cupped together, brown water pouring out the sides. “I got one!” he called.

“Let me see,” Theodore said.

“Come here!” Michael replied, expression giddy.

Theodore dusted himself off and came over. Michael kept his hands together, his heart beating fast. “Ain’t you gonna show me, Pretty?” Theodore asked.

Slowly, Michael opened his hands, revealing a bit of sand, but no frog. He grabbed the lapels of Theodore’s jacket and pulled him in for a kiss.

Michael let him go just as fast, scared and anxious to see how the other would react. Theodore’s cheeks had turned pink, his lips parted in confusion. Then he smiled and he couldn’t hide it. He shook his head.

“That doesn’t count, Pretty. I’m no frog—” Theodore laughed as Michael opened his mouth to defend himself.

“I wasn’t calling you ugly!” Michael blurted.

“I know, Pretty. That was clever of you,” Theodore told him, moving to sit back down in the grass, “But I’m still not a frog. At least, my daddy says so.”

Michael sat next to him, his cheeks burning. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Theodore hummed, “Says I’m handsome just like him.”

“You are,” Michael said, then backpedaled. “I mean, I don’t know what your dad looks like, but you…” Michael shut up as Theodore smiled at him. “Truth or dare?” he asked.

Theodore pressed his lips together. “Truth,” he said.

Michael ran his hand over the blades of grass between them. “Have you ever had sex—”

“Yes,” Theodore interrupted.

“I wasn’t finished—”

“Whatever the question is, the answer’s probably yes,” Theodore said.

Michael held back a laugh. “At school?” he asked.

Theodore looked at his feet, little smile on his face. “Yes.”

Michael leaned over, fascinated. “How many times?” he asked.

“Hey, one question per truth,” Theodore said, facing him again, smile gone.

“Right, sorry.”

Theodore crossed his legs underneath him and asked, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Michael said.

“Have you ever had sex?” Theodore asked.

Michael waited for the question to continue, but realized with his heart in his stomach that that was it. “Pass,” he said.

 _“Pass?”_ Theodore demanded.

“Yeah. When you don’t want to answer, pass.  Same for dare.”

Theodore furrowed his brows. “What kind of sissy truth or dare have you been playing?”

Michael drew his legs in and rested his chin on his arms. He didn’t answer. Theodore’s expression softened.

“Alright, Pretty, you ain’t gotta tell me. Answer this one instead. You ever kiss a boy before me?”

“Yes,” Michael said, and grinned when Theodore looked surprised. “Diego in first grade. He punched me after.”

“Awww,” Theodore cooed.

“I felt bad at first, but then he did the same to Beth when she tried it.”

“What a menace,” Theodore remarked, getting a laugh from Michael.

“Truth or dare?” he asked.

“Dare,” Theodore decided.

“I dare you to… sing a song,” Michael said.

“Any song?”

“Your choice.”

Theodore rubbed the hair on his chin and cleared his voice. “Your love is like bad medicine…” Michael giggled and Theodore pushed him. “Bad medicine is what I need… Whoa!”

“Bravo!” Michael declared, and clapped for him. Theodore grinned and did a little bow.

“Truth or dare, Pretty?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to close your eyes and don’t move for a minute.”

Michael nodded after a moment’s hesitation and set his watch.

“Ready?” Theodore asked.

Michael took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Ready.”

No sooner had Michael pressed the timer on his watch than a hand closed around his thigh. Michael jumped.

“S’just me, Pretty,” Theodore whispered. Michael felt his breath on his ear, and then his teeth.

 _“Ack!”_ Michael unfortunately squawked, and pulled away from the unexpected bite.

Theodore laughed and rubbed Michael’s ear between his fingers, the hand on his thigh creeping higher. Michael stiffened. He had to stay still. How many seconds could be left, anyway?

“You heard of a wet willie, Michael?” Theodore asked.

“Don’t,” Michael whispered.

Theodore held the side of Michael’s head and stuck his tongue in his ear. Michael cringed and twisted away from the swirling tongue. Still it persisted.

“Ew, stop! Theodore, please!”

Theodore chuckled and kissed the skin in front of Michael’s ear, the hand on his thigh moving to hold Michael’s side. Soon he was enveloped in a tight hug. Michael hugged him back just before his watch beeped.

“Dare failed,” Theodore teased, and let him go reluctantly. He looked almost… sad. Michael held onto his wrists.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“’course. Let’s do a few more.”

“Alright,” Michael said after a sigh. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Theodore said.

Michael thought for a bit. “What does ‘T-Bag’ mean?”

Theodore looked incredulous. “You don’t know?”

Michael shook his head.

“Of course you don’t know,” he said, smiling.

“Well, I know what a ‘tea bag’ is,” Michael told him. “But you don’t seem like the tea type.”

“I like tea,” Theodore said.

Michael raised his brows, waiting. Theodore rolled his eyes.

“It’s just my initials,” he replied. “T for Theodore, Bag for Bagwell.”

“Riiiight,” Michael said.

“That’s the truth,” Theodore insisted.

“Liar,” Michael teased.

“I don’t think you’d approve of the other meaning. Just call me Theodore.”

"Alright, Theodore," Michael said pointedly. He'd have to ask Lincoln later.

"Oh, don't look so sour. Truth or dare?"

Michael crossed his arms. "Truth."

"Had enough of my tongue in your ear?" Theodore joked.

"Is that the question or what my dare would have been?" Michael returned.

"The dare, for sure," Theodore said, and covered his smile until he thought of a question. "What do you think of me?"

"What do I think of you?"

He bit his lip. "Yeah."

Michael didn't want to reveal he'd made any assumptions in case his friend found them offensive. "I like you," he said.

"Oh, you do?" Theodore said, grinning. "I couldn't tell."

Michael played with the grass next to him. "I think not very many other people like you."

"And why's that?" he asked.

Michael turned to face him. "I don't know. You tell me."

Theodore shrugged and looked out at the river. "I'm mean," he said.

"Sarcastic," Michael noted.

"I'm clever," Theodore said.

"A smartass."

"I don't care about anyone but myself."

"Not sure that one's true," Michael said.

"I'm violent," Theodore replied.

That gave Michael pause.

"Not that I would hurt you, Pretty," he said softly.

Michael was quiet. He said, "Promise me."

Theodore reached out and held the hand that was nervously plucking at grass. He looked into his eyes. "I promise."

Michael smiled at him, his inner turmoil settling like dust.

"Uh oh," Michael said. 

"What?"

"My brother was supposed to pick me up." Michael checked his watch. "An hour ago."

Theodore lit up in a grin and helped Michael to his feet. "You have fun with that, Pretty."

Michael sighed and the two of them walked to the bus stop.

* * *

Three-thirty rolled around and Lincoln asked Mrs. Saturn to call and let the detention officer know he was there to pick up Michael. The phone rang once, then twice, and just as Mr. Pope answered the phone, Michael walked into the office with his backpack slung over his shoulder. "Hi, Linc," he said softly.

Mr. Pope said, "Hello?" on the other end of the line.

"Never mind, Henry," Mrs. Saturn said, and hung up the phone. Michael still held his breath.

Lincoln smiled and put his arm around him as they walked out of the office. "So you got detention?" he asked.

"Yeah," Michael muttered, feeling guilty. They got in the truck.

"Why?" Lincoln asked, slightly more stern.

Michael turned to him, expression pleading as he said, "It was stupid, Linc. But I have to tell you something."

"Uh oh. What is it?" Lincoln replied. They pulled out of the parking lot.

"I didn't go to detention," Michael confessed.

Lincoln made a face at him. "What?"

"Theodore pulled the fire alarm and we snuck away. We went to the park."

" _What_  park?"

"Miller Meadow."

"Michael!"

"What?" Michael said, although it was useless to feign defense. He felt bad as it was.

"That's far! Are you out of your mind? Do you think something bad can't happen to you if you're with a friend?"

"That's how I feel whenever I'm with you," Michael whispered.

Lincoln's anger dissipated. Quietly, he said, "You have to tell me where you are. This is a big city with a lot of dangerous people. Why would you do something like this in the first place? It's not like you."

"I don't know," Michael said.

"You do know. Be honest with me."

Michael nodded. He was right. "Linc, I like this boy..."

"Theodore?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And... I wanted to spend time with him. It was fun. We got detention because he saved me a lot of embarrassment."

Lincoln sighed. "Are you sure you want to be friends with someone who gets you into trouble?"

"It wasn't even like that," Michael argued, "He noticed I was wearing the same clothes from yesterday and we were talking about it."

Lincoln parked the truck in the driveway and glared at the garage door. Of course it all led back to Christina. He couldn't be mad at Michael when he was just trying to make friends. But he could be mad at his stupid decisions. He turned to Michael.

"Mikey," he said, "I want you to promise me something."

"Uh huh," Michael said, completely serious.

"Promise you'll call me and tell me where you are or where you're going. Use a phone booth, or the school phone. Whatever."

"I promise," Michael replied.

"You know my work number?"

"Yes."

"And our home number?"

"Yes!"

"Good. I'm not going to tell Mom you got detention. But you better not get it again."

"Okay, Linc."

"Okay." Lincoln smoothed his hand over Michael's head and then got out of the truck. Michael followed.

"So you got back in the house?" he asked, eyeing Lincoln's keys as he unlocked the front door.

"Yup," Lincoln said, and let them in. "If Mom pulls something tonight, we'll be prepared."

Michael felt his stomach twist at the idea. "What will you do?"

"Take you to Veronica's," Lincoln said, hanging up his jacket on a hook by the door. Michael did the same with his backpack.

"She'd be okay with that?"

"Yeah, Mikey. She likes you, you know. And she especially likes me." He wiggled his eyebrows.

Michael feigned a gagging noise and sat on the couch with Lincoln. Lincoln pulled him close to his side. Christina didn't seem to be home. Lincoln turned on the TV.

"Star Trek?" Michael asked.

Lincoln laughed a little. "Sure, buddy. Captain Picard to the bridge..."

Michael laughed.

Lincoln babbled away in a British accent while he searched the channels for one playing Star Trek.

"Hey, Lincoln," Michael started.

"Yeah?"

"What does ‘T-Bag’ mean?"

Lincoln balked. "Have you been watching porn?"

Michael's lips parted. "What?" he whispered. "No."

"Honest?"

"Yes! How would I even get ahold of it? They only let adults in the back of the video store."

Lincoln looked at him for a second and then laughed. "So you know what's back there?"

"I'm sixteen, not an idiot."

"Do you know about my magazines?"

"What?"

"I guess not."

"What magazines, Linc?"

Lincoln picked a TV channel and set down the remote, ignoring him.

"Linc, come on. You can't just say something like that..."

Lincoln grinned. "Watch me."

Michael set his jaw and thought better of searching Lincoln's room. At least, for now. "You didn't answer my question," he pointed out.

"It's gross, Mike. Where'd you hear about it?"

"It's Theodore's nickname, apparently." Michael cringed inside as soon as he said it.

Lincoln studied Michael with a little worry in his eyes. "You be careful," he said.

"I'll be fine."

Lincoln put his feet up on the table and rubbed his lip with his thumb. Michael took a breath and rested his head on Lincoln's shoulder. 


	5. Chapter 5

When Christina came home, she acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. Part of Michael was grateful. Perhaps he was forgiven. But part of him wondered if his mom had drawn a tally line in a notebook somewhere marking the number of times he’d disappointed her. He and Lincoln and Christina ate dinner together and he didn’t have to sleep outside, thank goodness. Michael showered and went to bed, clutching a fluffy bunny to his chest as his breathing slowed and he fell asleep.

In the morning, there was an origami crane on his nightstand. Michael blinked at it and the little arrow on its wing, indicating he unfold it. Inside was a note from Lincoln.

_Took the day off to spend with Veronica. Have fun at school. I love you. Linc._

Michael smiled and tried to refold the crane but the second version of it was a little less pristine. He set it on his nightstand and got ready for school, locked up the house, and took the bus. In his sketchbook, he tried to draw the crane, then gave up and drew a rose, then some of the buildings he passed on his way to school. He thought about which sketches Sara might like to see, and if Alex had managed to save any other pages of his artwork.

He was determined to be a good student today, and worked steadily through English and Algebra, even World History, although he kept sneaking peeks at Theodore and usually found the brown-haired boy looking back at him. He smiled and took notes on the textbook instead of passing notes. Class ended and the two walked close to each other as they went to lunch. At the table, Katie had a crazy story about her job at McDonald’s.

“And then he told me he wanted his shake thinner! I told ‘im we had chocolate milk if that’s what he wanted—”

The table burst into laughter as Theodore covered his face. Michael whispered to him, “What’s up?”

“Sounds like my dad,” he replied.

“And then he said he wanted to talk to the manager, so I said, you’re looking at her!”

“You didn’t,” Sara said.

“I did!”

“Definitely my dad,” Theodore muttered. Michael gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Did you give him a refund?” he asked.

Katie made a pffft sound with her lips. “I told him he could go to Dairy Queen if he wanted a thin shake.”

Theodore stood up from the table and went to the bathroom. Michael watched him for a few seconds before he decided to follow. The door swung shut behind him and he found Theodore looking at himself in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked.

Theodore ran his hands through his hair and straightened his patterned button down shirt. “Yeah, I’m fine. S’just, my daddy gets mad sometimes.”

Michael studied him. Theodore’s lips seemed to tremble. He took a step closer to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Did he hurt you?” he asked.

“What?” Theodore shook him off. “What makes you ask a stupid question like that?”

Michael didn’t know what to say.

“Shut your mouth. You look like a fish,” Theodore said.

Michael closed his mouth and stared at him in disbelief, eyes watering. He turned to leave.

“Michael, wait—”

Michael rushed out of the bathroom and bumped into Cooper for the second time that week.

“Whoa, kid. Don’t you ever slow down?”

Michael wiped his face and Cooper set his broom to the side. He put his hands on his shoulders.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You can tell me. I got a granddaughter your age. She’s always crying about something somebody said or did…”

Michael leaned into him and Cooper patted his back.

“C’mon, kid. I know something that’ll make you feel better.”

Michael followed him to the teacher’s break room, where a cat was making the rounds, getting petted by everyone interested. Cooper grinned and picked her up. “This is Marilyn,” he said.

Michael smiled at the pretty cat and scratched behind her ear. She started purring. The other teachers didn’t seem phased that Cooper had brought another upset student into their lounge area.

“Thank you,” Michael whispered.

Cooper smiled and passed Marilyn into Michael’s arms. The cat clung to him and Michael felt his anxieties drift away. He stayed in the break room with Marilyn and Cooper until there were just a few minutes of lunch left, and then he went back to his table of friends and gathered his things together. Theodore was nowhere to be found.

* * *

“What’s up, bro? You seem sad.”

Michael glanced at Fernando before going back to filling out his worksheet. “Nothing,” he said.

“Is it a girl?”

“No,” Michael said mournfully. He crossed his arms and laid his head on them. The table was cool to the touch.

“I got a girl,” Fernando said, “Maricruz. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah?” Michael replied, turning to look at him. His golden cross necklace glinted in the light from the windows, the classroom dim with half its lights out.

“Yeah. You should see her in her red lipstick and little tiny skirt—but don’t get any ideas, Papi. She’s all mine.”

Michael laughed a little. “Papi?” he asked.

“Yeah, you know. Bro, dude, Papi.”

“Oh,” Michael murmured, liking the ease with which he could ask him questions. “Sounds like Papa.”

Fernando smiled. “Got you excited there, didn’t I?”

Michael bumped shoulders with him and laughed through his nose.

“I’m thinking about getting Maricruz a ring,” said Fernando.

Michael looked at him wide-eyed. “A wedding ring?”

“No! You’re crazy. I was thinking more like a purity ring.”

Michael made a face.

“What? Those things are popular.”

“I dunno, bro,” Michael said, feeling funny using the word, “Think about what you’re telling her.”

Fernando stared at him, uncomprehending.

Michael glanced around for the teacher and whispered, “No sex until marriage?”

Fernando’s eyes lit up. “Ohh, you’re right. That’s not… I don’t want that.” He smiled, embarrassed.

Michael laughed. “Maybe a promise ring would be better.”

Fernando nodded and scribbled a note down in his notebook. “I like how you think, Papi. Do those cost a lot?”

Michael shrugged. Fernando tapped his chin with his pencil, thinking.

* * *

Michael headed to the football field after school, still feeling like his head was stuck in a funk. He saw Alex in his basketball shorts and thick headband, looking tan and stoic. He walked up to him once the other boys had disbanded. Alex didn't smile at him right away, or at all.

"Hi, Michael."

"Hi," Michael said shakily. What was wrong?

Alex crossed his arms. "You told me you had detention yesterday."

"I did," Michael said.

"Why did I see you and T-Bag run off together, then?"

 _Oh,_ Michael realized, _he'd seen them._

"I'm sorry," Michael replied, "It wasn't my idea."

"Hm." Alex reached for the cooler and pulled out an icy blue drink. He drank it slowly. Michael could feel the sun through his clothing. "No detention today?" Alex asked.

"No," Michael said, gaze falling to his feet. "Not sure Theodore and I will be hanging out much, anyway."

Alex's bravado softened and he waved Michael over to where his backpack sat on the bleachers.

"You're not able to run, yet, are you?" Alex asked.

"Not well," Michael answered.

"You might as well get something out of coming to practice," he said, and pulled another sheet protector out of his backpack. It was Michael's drawing of an angel defeating a demon, one of his finer pieces. Alex handed it to him gently.

"This is really some amazing work, Michael," he said.

Michael felt his heart warm.

"You know, I think it'd make a great tattoo. You ever thought of that?"

Michael shook his head. Alex smiled. Michael was seized with the idea that maybe he was good enough at something—good enough for someone.

"Do you want to see what I've done lately?" Michael asked, then almost felt taken aback by his own question. He'd never shared his sketchbook with anyone but Lincoln.

"Yeah, let's see it," Alex encouraged.

Michael took out his new sketchbook and flipped through it with Alex.

"I like this one," he said, "What's it mean?"

“Christ in a rose,” Michael explained, “It’s my mother’s name.”

Alex's eyes traced over rose petals as he put it together. “Christina Rose?”

“Yup.”

Alex nodded, looking awestruck. “And here I was thinking you were Christian.”

Michael laughed a little. Alex stood and dusted himself off.

“Well, I’ve got to get back to the boys,” he said, gesturing to the ones who hadn't stopped for a water break. Michael nodded and put away his sketchbook, then stood next to Alex. Alex touched his shoulder lightly.

“Have a good weekend, okay?”

Michael could have melted. “Thanks, you too,” he said.

Alex trotted down the bleachers and gave him a wave from the track. Michael sighed.

* * *

Michael took the bus home and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized Christina wasn’t there. Sometimes he wondered if she really went to the office or did all her editing from home and only went out to drink. Michael took out his notebooks to get started on his homework. Minutes went by and Michael found himself more and more distracted by his aloneness and the thought of Lincoln’s dirty magazines stashed somewhere in his room.

“Focus,” Michael said to himself. He should be grateful Lincoln wasn’t mad at him for making him wait an hour to pick him up, especially since he’d been so thoughtful and made sure he ate a good breakfast and got to school. He should do something to show how thankful he was. Michael got up and gathered all the ingredients to Lincoln’s favorite cookies—chocolate chips, peanut butter, and chocolate sprinkles mixed together in generous quantities. He put the cookie dough on a tray in the oven and set the timer.

Michael stared at the oven clock before succumbing to his curiosity and running upstairs.

First he looked in Lincoln’s underwear drawer, then the ones below it, and under the mattress. No luck. Then he checked under the bed, saw dirty laundry and an old teddy bear, which he pulled out and smiled at. Mr. Fuzzy was named after how soft he was. Now he might be named after the dust he’d collected. Michael brushed him off and set him on the bed.

Next Michael searched the bookshelf, in case they might be hiding in plain sight. Nope. Michael sighed and was about to leave when his eyes fell on the closet.

He strode up to it and slid open the wooden door. Inside were jackets on hangers, old toys and balls, a backpack, and a stack of comic books. Michael thumbed through them and found what he was looking for in the middle of the stack.

“Lincoln, you sneaky bastard,” Michael said, grinning at the scantily dressed woman on the cover. Just then he heard footsteps and giggles coming up the stairs and closed the closet door in a panic, planting himself between the wall and a mountain of precariously stacked toys. The footsteps came closer.

“You’re sure she’s not home?” said a woman’s voice. It was Veronica.

“Positive,” Lincoln replied, and Michael heard them practically tumble into the room. They were kissing.

“You sleep with a teddy bear?” Veronica asked skeptically.

Lincoln must have furrowed his brows. Michael held his hands to his face.

“Yeah,” he lied, and moved Mr. Fuzzy. “Don’t girls like that sort of thing? It means I’m sensitive.”

Veronica giggled and the bed creaked under their weight. Michael covered his mouth. _Please, Lincoln, please don’t—_

“And,” Lincoln said, “I know you’re _sensitive_ too…”

“Oh, Lincoln!”

This was the worst day of Michael’s life, by far. Through a crack in the door, Michael could see Lincoln strip off his jacket. He turned his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Take it off, bad boy!” Veronica cheered. Lincoln laughed and Michael heard a piece of clothing smack the closet door, followed by two more that made him flinch. The magazine crinkled in his hands and Michael stayed absolutely still.

“Ooh, Veronica, you look _sexy…”_

“It’s new,” she teased.

“Well, I can’t wait to see what it looks like off the rack.”

“Oh my god, Linc, you’re ridiculous!”

“You mean _genius_.”

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

“With pleasure. Mmm…”

Michael cringed and cursed himself and hated everything that led to this moment. Why? Why him?

_Beep-beep-beep-beep…_

Michael’s eyes flew open and he scrambled to turn off his watch.

“Did you hear that?” Lincoln asked.

“Hear what?” Veronica said.

Michael tore his watch off and sat on it to muffle the sound.

Lincoln shook his head. “Nothing. You must be making me crazy.”

“Ha ha,” said Veronica, and Michael listened to the bed creak again. Dumb watch. He’d set the alarm as a study break. He could’ve been studying, but instead…

A playful moan from Veronica. It was kind of a turn-on… No! That was not his intention. _Focus, Michael… tune it out…_

He tried to think of math equations, and the layout of their house and where he’d put a secret tunnel if he could, of the test in English he had next week, lunch breaks with the girls… Sara… Oh no. They were definitely doing it now. And Veronica was loud. And Lincoln, dear Lincoln—

“OooOooh… Veronica… You’re amazing…”

 _Shut up, shut up!_ Michael covered his ears. Something smelled like smoke.

The cookies!

Nooooooooooooooo!

A few seconds later the fire alarm went off and Lincoln leapt off the bed and grabbed his pants from the floor by the closet door. Through the crack he saw something—someone—he didn’t expect to see. His eyes widened. Michael didn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

Lincoln left the room in a hurry and pulled the charred cookies from the oven. He opened a few windows and returned to Veronica.

“What was it?” she asked.

“A fluke,” Lincoln attempted.

“It doesn’t smell like a fluke.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. It was a candle I lit. I could bring it up here if you want.”

“C’mere,” she called.

Lincoln shifted awkwardly. “Is the bed comfy enough?”

“Yeah,” Veronica said, just the slightest bit confused.

“My mother has a queen bed.”

“Lincoln, this one’s fine. It smells like you.”

Michael wanted to cry. _C’mon, Lincoln…_

“You ever done it in the shower?” Lincoln blurted.

Veronica gave a nervous laugh. “No.”

“You want to?”

Veronica slipped off the bed and wrapped her arms around Lincoln’s neck. “Sure, sweet cheeks,” she said, and let her hands drift to Lincoln’s butt, giving him a squeeze through the jeans he’d thrown on. Michael couldn’t tear his eyes away from them, too nervous. Veronica led the way out of the bedroom, Lincoln sending daggers towards the closet as he left. Michael waited to hear the bathroom door close and the shower start before slipping out of the closet. His legs were numb. He crawled to his room and screamed into his pillow.

When Michael was calm enough, he snuck past the shower and rushed downstairs, threw away the cookies, and raced to make another batch in an attempt to pacify the wrath of Lincoln. He must be thinking terrible things about him. His pervert little brother—oh, Michael could die.

By the time the cookies finished baking, the shower stopped running upstairs, and the pleasant smells of chocolate and peanut butter filled the house. The couple came downstairs with wet hair, but fully dressed, and Michael offered warm cookies and a glass of milk to the both of them. Veronica looked like her day couldn’t get any better.

“Thank you, Michael!” she said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Lincoln said lowly. “When did you get home, Michael?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” Michael lied, his eyes pleading with him. He scooped the cookies off the tray and placed them on three plates. He poured the milk with shaking hands.

“You okay, Michael?” Veronica asked, a cookie in her hand.

Sweat dripped down his brow. Lincoln chewed his cookie angrily.

“I’m fine,” Michael said.

“You sleep with stuffed animals, don’t you, Michael?” Lincoln asked.

Michael swallowed hard and sipped his milk. “Yeah.”

“See?” he told Veronica, “My brother’s a sensitive guy.”

Veronica cooed and Michael’s face turned completely red. “Linc, you’re embarrassing him!”

“He can take it,” Lincoln said, “He knows I’m a little _crazy_ sometimes…”

Michael forced a laugh and muttered, “I’ll leave you be,” took his cookies upstairs, and locked himself in his bedroom.

* * *

Veronica left after snuggling with Lincoln on the couch for an hour as they watched an action movie she’d rented. Lincoln closed the door behind her and went upstairs. He banged on Michael’s door.

“Linc, I’m so sorry,” Michael called.

“Open the door, Mike.”

“I can explain, I promise!”

“ _Open the door_ ,” Lincoln repeated.

Michael stood from where he was moping in the corner and unlocked the door. Lincoln burst through and grabbed Michael by his collar, pushing him back into the room and onto the bed.

“Why were you watching me?!” he demanded.

“I wasn’t watching you!”

“So you were watching Veronica?” he growled, pinning Michael down as he struggled.

“No! I wasn’t watching her! I wasn’t watching!”

“Do you know how embarrassing that was?!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Do you know how hard it is to have sex in the shower? It’s slippery, Michael! Slipperier than you think!”

Michael bit his lip and tried to hold in a laugh. Lincoln lifted Michael by the collar and slammed him back down, the result less satisfying than he’d hoped as the bed bounced slightly. Another laugh slipped past Michael’s lips.

“You think this is funny?” Lincoln yelled.

“No!” Michael burst into giggles.

“What were you thinking, Mikey?” Lincoln said, grip on him lessening somewhat.

“I—I—,” Michael stuttered, “Linc, I was just looking for those magazines. I thought I’d be alone for a while.”

Lincoln groaned. “Really, Mike?”

“Really. I didn’t expect you and Veronica to…”

Lincoln felt his face redden again and grimaced. “I can’t believe you,” he said, and let him go.

Michael sat up hesitantly. “I’m really sorry, Linc.”

Lincoln rubbed his temples and sighed. “Stay here,” he said.

Michael watched him leave the room and return with a modest stack of magazines and bottle of something clear. “Here,” he said, and shoved the stack into Michael’s arms, “Go crazy.”

Michael gawked at him.

“And don’t ever mention this to _anyone,_ and don’t come in my room! Ever!”

Michael set the stack on his bed as Lincoln walked away. “Wait, Linc—” He followed him to his room. Lincoln whipped around and held a finger at him.

“I mean it, Michael!”

Michael frowned and stayed put. Lincoln mellowed, then said, “Thanks for the cookies,” and shut the door in Michael’s face. Michael smiled just a little.


	6. Chapter 6

In the morning, Lincoln watched Michael breeze around the kitchen, light smile on his face as he poured orange juice and scooped scrambled eggs onto his plate. Christina buttered a piece of toast for him and kissed his head.

"Thanks, Mom," Michael said.

"You're welcome, honey."

Lincoln waited for Christina to sit down at the kitchen table before whispering to Michael, "Did you enjoy those magazines?"

Michael, with his perfect poker face, said, "I don't know what you're talking about." He took his plate to the table and sipped his juice. Lincoln chuckled and joined him. They ate quietly for a few moments.

"Boys, I've got a hair appointment at ten," Christina announced, "and then I'm heading to the office to meet with some clients."

"Have you read anything good lately?" Michael asked. He'd noticed the stack of manuscripts on her desk gradually getting thinner.

Christina shrugged. "It's a lot of the same, you know. Boy finds an unattainable girl, gets the girl anyway, saves the world." 

"How boring," Lincoln said.

Christina eyed him for traces of sarcasm before getting up and taking her plate to the sink. She turned the corner to go upstairs.

"Have a nice day, Mom," Michael called.

"You too," she called back. Lincoln looked like he was trying to comprehend the niceness. Christina's footsteps dissipated and Lincoln asked, "You wanna do something today?"

"What did you have in mind?" Michael replied. He stabbed the last of his scrambled eggs with a fork.

"Dunno," he said, "Thought we could catch a movie."

Michael smiled and munched on his toast. "We could go to the one in the mall," he suggested.

"Yeah. Okay, I'm going to take a shower."

"So soon?" Michael teased.

Lincoln raised his brows, challenging Michael to say more. Michael raised his hands in surrender. Lincoln smirked and dropped his plate off at the sink.

* * *

Lincoln bought the movie tickets a few hours in advance so he and Michael could walk around the mall. The first stop was the puppy store. Michael smiled at the little misfit pugs and beagles and bull dogs.

"The janitor has a cat," Michael said.

Lincoln quirked an eyebrow as a chihuahua yapped at him. "Really?"

"Yeah. She's cute. Her name is Marilyn."

Lincoln rubbed the fuzz on Michael's head and squeezed his shoulder. "You want a cat now, don't you?"

Michael grinned and ducked his head.

Lincoln said, "Well, you can ask Mom. She seems to be in a good mood today."

Michael agreed. They went to grab lunch in the food court. They ate Philly cheesesteaks and shared a pile of seasoned fries.

"Thanks, Linc," Michael said, mouth half-full.

"Welcome," he replied, and licked his fingers.

"Don't do that," Michael told him.

"Why not?"

"Germs," Michael said, matter-of-factly.

Lincoln licked his fingers with a new gusto, then reached out to touch him over the table. Michael cringed and leaned away desperately, looking around to see if anyone was watching their shenanigans. He spied Sara in the smoothie line not far away. Her arms were crossed close to her body and she didn't seem to have anyone else with her.

"Mike?" Lincoln asked.

Michael glanced back at him and said, "My friend Sara's over there."

"Which one?" Lincoln asked, curious.

"Hair up, backless shirt," Michael said.

"Wowww," Lincoln drawled.

Michael pushed him. "You have a girlfriend."

"Yeah, and you don't," he said, "Go talk to her."

Michael tapped the table with long fingers, thinking.

"C'mon, Michael, go! Just say hi. Get up and goooo."

"Shut up," Michael replied, and pushed in his chair. He wiped his mouth, straightened his undershirt, and brushed off his lightweight sweater and jeans. "Okay?" he asked.

Lincoln gave him a thumbs up.

Michael took a breath and walked towards the smoothie line. Behind Sara, some boys were jostling each other around. One bumped into her. She stumbled and snapped at them, then faced the smoothie counter again. One of the boys moved around to face her and Michael slowed his pace, observing. The boy behind Sara yanked the ribbon tying the back of her shirt, and the one in front of her lifted the shirt over her head, exposing her breasts.

Michael ran to her side as the boys took the shirt from her and tossed it around in a sick game of monkey-in-the-middle. Sara met him with wild eyes and he pulled her to his chest, holding her tight with one arm as he yelled at the others, "Give that to me!"

They just laughed. Michael stripped off his sweater and pulled it over Sara's head, and she tugged it down over herself. She leaned into him again. Michael wrapped both arms around her and said, "Walk with me, okay?"

She nodded, eyes squeezed shut. Michael took her hand. He led her back to their table, where Lincoln pulled out a chair for Sara.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Sara looked at him and burst into tears. Michael held her hand with both of his. Lincoln told them to stay there and stormed over to the smoothie line.

"Linc," Michael called, worried. He didn't listen. Michael watched him stride over to the gang of boys, taller than all of them, and shove one of them to the floor before snatching Sara's shirt from his hand. Michael scanned the food court in a panic. If a security guard saw him...

The other boys scattered and Lincoln returned, triumphant. He sat down and handed Sara her shirt. Sara took it and covered her face with it, shoulders bobbing slightly.

"Sara," Michael said quietly, "It's alright. I'm here for you."

"You want a smoothie?" Lincoln asked her. "I'll get it for you."

"Yes," she said shakily. 

"What kind, sweetheart?"

She set her shirt in her lap and reached for her wallet. Lincoln stopped her.

"I'll pay, don't you worry. What kind?"

"Strawberry, um, strawberry pineapple," Sara said.

Lincoln nodded and stood up, gesturing for Michael to do something else to comfort her. Michael scooted a little closer to her.

"Is anyone else here with you?" he asked.

Sara sniffled and wiped her face. "No," she said.

Michael furrowed his brows as Sara crumpled her shirt in her hands.

"My, uh, my dad was supposed to meet me, but he canceled," she explained. Sara ran her teeth over her lip and looked out at the food court. "It's my birthday."

Michael frowned and said softly, "Happy birthday."

Sara turned to him and laughed. "Yeah, right."

Michael smiled at her. "Your hair looks beautiful," he said.

Sara reached up and touched the butterfly clasps keeping her hair in elaborate twists. "Thank you." She rubbed the sleeve of Michael's sweater. "Thanks for—" she sniffled, "this too."

"Of course," Michael told her.

She held up her damp shirt with a weak smile before putting it in her purse. "I'm going to wear it for a little longer if that's okay."

Michael gave a small laugh. "Sure." The sweater was too big on her. "It's a new style," he joked.

Sara laughed and Lincoln brought back her smoothie and some napkins. "Thank you," she murmured. She sipped from the multi-colored straw and blew her nose on one of the napkins. Lincoln nudged Michael under the table. Michael looked down and Lincoln pushed a fifty-dollar bill into his hand, tipping his head towards Sara. Michael lit up.

"Sara," he said, "Do you want to go shopping?"

"Not really," she answered.

"Come on," he encouraged, "Let's celebrate your birthday. Do you like jewelry?"

Sara smiled a little. "Yes."

"And hair things?"

"Yes."

"Ice cream?"

"Now you're talking," Sara replied, grinning. Lincoln smiled too.

"It's your birthday?" he asked. They stood and Michael gathered their trash together.

"Yeah," Sara said.

"How old are you now?"

"Sixteen."

"Sweet sixteen! That's Michael's age," Lincoln told her. Michael tossed their trash, cheeks turning pink. Sara took another sip from her smoothie, smiling as Michael walked beside her again. "What's the first stop?" he asked.

"Um... Claire's?"

"Claire's it is!" Michael declared. They walked to the store and Lincoln had a little trouble squeezing between the earring racks. Michael thought all the crowded merchandise was a bit overwhelming. It was like everything girly in the world decided to manifest in one place.

"These are so cute!" Sara exclaimed. Michael peered over her shoulder at the pink and purple robot earrings. "You like those?" he asked.

Sara put them back on the rack and pinched her un-pierced ears. "It doesn't matter. They probably have it on a necklace somewhere... Here!"

Michael followed her to the wall of necklaces as she scanned it for the mini robots. Lincoln joined them after a fight with a feather boa.

"Can Sara get her ears pierced?" Michael whispered to him.

"It's your money now, Mikey."

"You're going to have to sign the paperwork."

Lincoln nodded. "No problem. What's her last name?"

"Tancredi," Michael said.

"Got it. Wait, how do you spell that?"

Lincoln wrote it on his palm as Michael spelled it out for him. Sara found the robot necklace in a blue and green version.

"Sara," Michael said, walking over to her, "Do you want the earrings to match? My treat."

Sara looked like she was going to say no even though she really wanted to say yes. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive," Michael said, "What do you say?"

Sara fought a smile and then nodded. "Let's do it."

Michael got the attention of an employee, who had Sara sit in a special chair after Lincoln signed the paperwork, "Lincoln Burrows—legal guardian of Sara Tancredi." If they found out he fudged it later, at least Sara would already have her ears pierced. They gave her small silver studs that she'd have to keep in until her ears healed. Michael bought the robot earrings for her anyway. Sara slid down the chair and hugged him.

Michael found himself hugging her a little longer and tighter than he meant to. Sara still looked ecstatic when she slipped from his grip. "Thank you, Michael," she said, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears to show off the studs.

"Those look great," he said, stiffer than he meant it to come out. He sent a glance Lincoln's way and Lincoln winked back at him.

"You took it like a champ, too," Lincoln said. "If it were me getting my ears pierced..."

They both laughed. "Let me guess, you'd cry?" Sara asked.

"Like a baby."

They left the store and strolled past some less interesting shops. Michael asked, "Where to next?"

"You pick," Sara said.

"Hmm... Did you want to see a movie with us?"

"It starts in an hour," Lincoln informed her.

"Sure," Sara said, then thought of how they'd kill the time. "Have you ever been to Bath and Body Works?"

Five different lotions and two hand washes later, Michael could say that, yes, he'd been to Bath and Body Works. He didn't even mind—it all smelled so good. Sara picked out a perfume and Michael bought it for her. She'd finished her smoothie by then and Lincoln suggested it was time for ice cream. Michael side-eyed him knowingly. They made their way back to the food court as Sara held onto Michael's arm. He noticed her looking around nervously.

"It's okay," he whispered, "Lincoln got rid of them."

Sara nodded but kept her arm around Michael's. They got in line for ice cream. "I'm not very hungry," Sara said.

"You want to share one?"

"Mm, okay. What flavor do you like?"

"Rocky road."

"Me too."

"Is it your favorite?" Michael asked.

"No. That honor goes to mint chocolate chip."

Michael laughed and ordered a scoop of each in a dish. Lincoln got three different scoops for himself. They sat down as Michael asked if Lincoln was really going to eat all that.

"Duh," Lincoln responded. Sara and Michael laughed. When they were done, Sara pointed out the chocolate on Michael's lip.

"Here, I'll get it," she said, and wiped Michael's lip with her thumb. He went a little wide-eyed and then tried to cover it.

"Thanks," he said, in a voice as deep as he could naturally produce.

"Alright, kids," Lincoln interrupted, clearing his throat, "Movie time."

They gathered their things and headed to the theater. Michael bought Sara's ticket, and realized only then that he was down to three dollars. Lincoln paid for popcorn and soda. They took their seats as the previews played.

"What's this movie about?" Sara whispered.

"Zombies," Michael said.

"What?"

Michael looked her over. "Is that okay?"

"I'm kind of a wimp when it comes to scary movies," she said.

Michael smiled. "That's okay. You can hide your eyes in that sweater. That's what I normally do."

"Really?"

"Really," Michael lied. Lincoln chuckled on the other side of him and Michael nudged him with his elbow. Sara hid her hands in the sleeves and got ready for the movie.

By the end of the first scene, Sara had completely retreated into the sweater, and Michael almost wondered if he should ask if she wanted to leave. But soon she was peeking out of the collar, and laughing at the funny parts, gasping in surprise, and clutching Michael's arm any time a zombie growled. 

The movie ended and Michael's arm was definitely numb from all the hugging. They shuffled out of the theater seats as Michael asked, "Did you like it?"

"Yeah, it was awesome," Lincoln said, and Michael gave him a look. "Oh, you meant... Sara, did you like it?"

Michael rolled his eyes at him as Sara said, "It was incredible. We should do it again sometime." She squeezed Michael's arm. Michael's heart could have stopped.

"Yeah," he agreed, "I'd love to."

Sara smiled and went to use the restroom. Lincoln threw his arm around Michael's shoulders. "I think she likes you."

"I think I like her," Michael said, gazing after her.

"What about Theodore?" Lincoln teased. The smile fell from Michael's face.

"I don't think he likes me," he muttered.

Without missing a beat, Lincoln said, "His loss. You want more soda?"

Guilt rushed over Michael. "Oh, Linc, I... I spent almost all the money you gave me on Sara," he confessed.

"No worries. She deserved it."

Michael felt a new appreciation for him as Sara returned from the bathroom. They drove her home and Sara kissed Michael's cheek before hopping out of the truck. Michael turned unmistakably red.

"Mikey, you've got to control that blush," Lincoln chastised. They watched Sara walk up to a big house.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Michael asked.

"I dunno, relax, man. Play it cool."

Sara turned and waved before going inside. Michael sighed. Lincoln laughed at him. "C'mon. Let's go home.”

* * *

Michael and Lincoln came home just before the sun set. As soon as they shut the front door, Christina called to Michael.

"In my office  _now_ ," she said.

Michael gulped and looked to Lincoln. Lincoln had the same anxious look Michael did. Michael turned the corner and entered Christina's office. It was dim inside, lit by two lamps on either side of her desk.

"Close the door," Christina said.

Michael did.

She gestured to the wooden chair in front of her. "Sit down."

Michael did. Christina sat across from him in a tall swivel chair, perfectly poised. On her desk sat the magazines Lincoln had given him, spread out and facing him. Michael's lips parted.

"Care to explain," Christina said, "what these were doing in your room?"

Michael fought for an explanation. They'd been hidden inside another book. She must have gone looking for them. "I bought them," he told her.

"And?"

"And..."

"Michael," Christina snapped, "Answer me. What did you do with them?"

Michael felt sweat drip down his back. It wasn't a matter of admitting it, but of the humiliation it came with. He stayed silent. Christina stood up and walked around the desk, flipping through one of the magazines.

"You must think you're a man now," she said, "because you can get it up looking at this filth." She threw the magazine on the desk and Michael flinched. "Is that true?"

Michael didn't answer. Christina slapped him.

It stung. But more than that, it hurt his heart. He seemed to physically ache.

"You disgust me," Christina said. "I thought I raised you better. You're just as shameful as Lincoln. I know these are his." She tossed the magazines in the trash by her desk. "And now you'll have to be punished."

Michael stared at the floor as she took something out of her desk. With a quick glance, he recognized it. An electric razor. She was going to shave his hair.

Michael stayed perfectly still. The buzzing was loud by his ears.

When she was done, she put the razor back in her desk and sat down. Michael didn't look at her. Christina opened another drawer and took out a mirror.

"Look at me, Michael. Look at what a man looks like."

Michael looked at himself in the mirror. He hated himself.

"Get out of my sight," she ordered.

Michael stood and walked out of her office. Lincoln was right there when he shut the door behind him. He looked Michael over with wide eyes. His hand went to Michael's red cheek.

Michael ran to his room, unable to help the gush of tears that followed. Lincoln chased after him and slipped into his room before Michael could lock the door. He cried at the foot of his bed, legs drawn in close, hands covering his face. Lincoln sat next to him and hugged him tight, pressing kisses to his head.

"She-e-e slapped me," Michael stammered. Lincoln rubbed his arm and squeezed him.

"I know, buddy."

"My hair-r-r..."

"I've got you, Mikey."

"I'm ugly!"

"No, you're not."

"I'm a fish!"

Lincoln tipped Michael's chin up to face him. "What makes you say that?" he asked.

"Theodore!"

"Oh," Lincoln murmured, "He said that?"

Michael's whole body shuddered. "Yeah-ah-ah..."

Lincoln kissed his cheek. "Mikey, you're so handsome. Even with your hair shaved. Trust me, buddy."

"I look like Dumbo!"

"Nooo," Lincoln soothed, and rubbed one of his ears. "These are cute."

"My eyes are too b-big," Michael argued. “My nose—”

Lincoln squeezed him again. "Trust me, Michael. They're not."

Michael sobbed and twisted so he could hug Lincoln, who pulled him into his lap and wrapped his arms around him tight. "Breathe, Mikey. Deep breaths. Take it easy."

Michael tried to throw all his concentration into the rumble of Lincoln's voice. The buzzing, and the mirror, and the magazines just kept happening over and over.

Lincoln said, "I'm so proud of you, Mikey."

Michael's breath hitched and he lifted his head off Lincoln's shoulder. "Why?"

"Because of how you helped your friend today. You could have done nothing, or stood and watched, but you defended her. You gave her a happy birthday."

Michael nodded in his shoulder. Lincoln rubbed his back. "You're okay, buddy. Everything's alright. You didn't deserve that."

Michael hugged him tighter. He was so warm and comforting. "I love you, Lincoln."

"I love you, Michael. C'mon. I'm gonna tuck you in. It's been a long day."

Michael let Lincoln pick him up and set him on his bed. He kicked off his shoes and wiped his face. Lincoln pulled the covers over him and knelt by the bed, hand smoothing over Michael's forehead.

"It's gonna grow back, you know," Lincoln said softly. Michael nodded, another tear slipping from his eyes. Lincoln wiped it for him, saying, "Shhh... Everything's gonna be okay. I'm gonna look out for you. Nobody's gonna hurt you..."

Michael fell asleep listening to his voice.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the comments and kudos, everyone! Enjoy this new chapter ;)

Sunlight shone through the windows of Michael’s bedroom. The house was quiet. Michael opened his eyes, his nightstand and books and lamp fuzzily coming into focus before he noticed another paper crane. With a sinking feeling, he wondered if that meant Lincoln wasn’t home. He reached over and pinched the bird between two fingers before unfolding it.

This one was blank.

Michael refolded it and set it on his nightstand with the other one, sighing as he adjusted his pillow. Lincoln must’ve gone to work. Michael got up and washed his face, avoiding his image in the mirror. He padded downstairs and checked the garage for Christina’s car. She was gone, too. Michael spent the day doing his homework and cleaning the house, hoping that would make his mother happy. He took a nap on the couch.

The next thing he knew, Lincoln was taking up his entire line of vision, along with a Luke Skywalker action figure.

“Surprise,” he said.

Michael sat up, wearing a confused smile. “You got me a toy?”

Lincoln huffed and sat on the table in front of him. “I thought you liked Luke Skyjumper—runner—whatever his name is.”

Michael laughed a little and took the action figure from him, posing him so he was ready for a duel. “I do. Thank you.”

Lincoln patted Michael’s cheek and got up to fix himself dinner, wiping his forehead with his dingy tank top as he went to the kitchen. “You eat yet?” he asked.

Michael adjusted Luke’s posable limbs so he could set him on the edge of the table, legs hanging over the side. “No,” he called back to him.

The nonchalant way he said it made Lincoln come back into the family room. “Did you eat at all?” he asked.

“I forgot,” Michael said.

Lincoln gave him a look and tugged on his arm and dragged him to the kitchen. He made Michael sit at the counter as he microwaved leftover casserole. The microwave hummed behind him as he lectured Michael. “You have to take care of yourself. You know that, don’t you?”

Michael nodded and Lincoln poured him a glass of water.

“I’m doing my best to look out for you, but you have to pitch in too,” he said, pulling plates out of the cupboard, setting forks down with a clank.

“You seem nervous,” Michael said.

“I’m not,” Lincoln replied, and tried to take the container out of the microwave too quickly and burned his fingers. “Ouch!”

Michael slipped out of his chair and pulled oven mitts out of a drawer and got the casserole out for him. He set it on the counter. “You can tell me,” he said gently, “It doesn’t always have to be me leaning on you.”

Lincoln sighed and pulled Michael into a hug, oven mitts and all. “I’ll tell you about it when everything’s settled, okay?”

Michael separated from him and said, “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

Lincoln went looking for a spatula and scooped a square of casserole onto each of their plates. “Trust me, it’s not. Things are gonna get better for us.”

Michael watched him start eating over the counter, standing up, and took his plate away from him so they could eat at the table together. Lincoln’s angry face looked funnier with a mouthful of food. Once they sat down, Lincoln tore through his casserole, and promptly threw together a PB & J, and then chips, and three of the cookies Michael had made the other day.

“Did _you_ eat today?” Michael asked skeptically.

“Worked through my break,” Lincoln said.

Michael ate some chips himself. “Guess we could both do better, huh?”

“What are you trying to say?” Lincoln snapped.

Michael furrowed his brows and didn’t say anything else. Lincoln softened and reached for Michael’s hand, but he pulled away from him.

“I’m sorry, Mikey,” Lincoln said, “I’m just stressed.”

“About?”

“You. And Mom.”

“Don’t be,” Michael said, “I’m fine.”

“It’s okay to not be fine.”

“Well, I am.”

“Okay.”

“Are you?”

Lincoln stared at him. “I’m fine,” he said.

Michael frowned and poked at a stray noodle. Lincoln reached for his hand again. Michael felt relief just looking into his eyes and knowing he was home, he was there for him. They finished their dinner, and Lincoln fell asleep on the couch after they’d watched a little TV. Michael tugged a blanket over him and went upstairs to get ready for bed just as Christina came home. He made a point of avoiding her.

* * *

Michael managed to sleep a decent amount after camping out in his room. The next day was Monday. A school day.

Michael prepared by digging a baseball cap out of his closet and slipping it over his head. He wore his normal jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, ate breakfast, and brushed his teeth. His first class didn’t go as planned.

“No hats in class,” said Mrs. Morgan, looking directly at him.

Michael took his hat off and shied under the attention. No one said anything. Still, it felt like two dozen eyes were on him, scrutinizing him, burning holes through him.

Second hour went the same way. Michael doubted he should even bother with the hat in the next class. But it was a comfort as he moved through the hallway, face hidden. Someone snagged his shirt and pulled him to the side.

“Theodore,” Michael blurted.

“I need to apologize, Pretty,” he said, and put his shoulders back. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

Some of the tension in him left as he listened to Theodore. Students passed by hastily.

“See, I kept thinking about it all weekend, and I had to tell you. I was mean. I’m sorry.”

Michael smiled a little. “It’s okay,” he said.

“Really?” Theodore asked.

“Yeah.”

Theodore smiled back, showing off his teeth. “You look cute in that cap a’ yours,” he said, tapping it with his knuckle.

Michael reached up and took it off. “And without it?”

He seemed surprised at first and then eased back into a lazy grin. “Cuter.”

“Liar,” Michael murmured, unable to help his smile.

“You mess up with the shaver or somethin’?”

“Something,” Michael replied. Theodore tipped his head to the side.

“You don’t wanna talk about it?” he asked.

Michael considered it and shook his head.

“Alright,” Theodore said. “You wanna hang out after school?”

This answer was easier. “Yes,” Michael replied. “Do you have someplace in mind?”

Theodore thought about it and licked his lips. “I have a little money. We could go get pizza.”

Michael smiled. “Yeah, that sounds great.” The bell rang and they slipped into class.

* * *

Michael used the classroom phone to call Lincoln and let him know what his afterschool plans were. He and Theodore arrived at the lunch table as Sara and her friends giggled over her pierced ears, except Brad, who sat with the other football players. "And there's the man himself!" Sara declared as Michael walked over. Michael sat by her, baseball cap unable to hide his smile.

"No regrets, right?" he asked.

"None at all," she said.

"They don't hurt much?"

"Hardly." She tucked her hair behind her ear, then remembered something. "Oh, I've got your sweater!" She moved to take it out of her bag as her friends echoed a chorus of, "OoOooh..."

Theodore grimaced. Michael turned a little red.

"Guys, are you kidding? I just borrowed it," Sara said.

" _Just_ borrowed," Sofia repeated.

"Shut up. Here, Michael." Sara handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said, and tucked it away in his backpack. Theodore leaned by his ear.

"Why the hell'd she have your sweater?" he asked.

Michael turned and said, "Because she needed it."

"Lil’ darling was cold, right?"

Michael huffed. "Yes, she was."

Theodore turned a jealous eye on Sara, but luckily she didn't notice as her friends procured birthday gifts for her. Her joy only seemed to make Theodore angrier. Michael put his arm around him and said, “You heard of a wet willie, Theodore?”

Theodore eyed him suspiciously.

“Because that’s what’s going to happen if you keep giving Sara the stink eye.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I _would_.”

Theodore glared at Sara with a hilarious intensity just to see if he would do it. Michael pulled him close and licked a wet stripe across his ear. Theodore’s cheeks burned as the girls laughed at him. He shucked out of Michael’s grip and tugged the sleeve of his jacket down to his wrist.

“Told you,” Michael whispered, grinning.

Theodore pouted and glared at him instead.

“Don’t be so _sour,”_ he teased.

“You’re funny, Pretty. I dare you to lick me again, see what happens.”

Michael stuck out his tongue. Theodore licked it just as fast.

The girls gasped. Michael turned red. Theodore grinned wickedly. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked.

Michael got ahold of himself and replied, “You’re a cat now? I thought you were a frog.”

“Uh uh,” he said, “We agreed I’m too attractive to be a frog.”

“Well, let’s see what the girls think,” Michael proposed, mimicking his accent, “Is Theodore a-tract-ive?”

They giggled, Sheba especially, but eventually all nodded. Michael ran his hand through Theodore’s hair, making it stand up in all different directions.

“And is his hair fluffy enough to be a cat?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Sara said.

Michael turned back to Theodore, smiling as he declared, “Congratulations, Theodore. You’re a cat.”

Theodore just looked mildly peeved, like he didn’t know how to respond to the attention. “Don’t think the claws won’t come out just because I like you,” he said.

“Whatever you say, kitty.”

“I prefer ‘Teddy.’”

“Teddy bears are fluffy too,” Michael pointed out.

“Whatever,” Theodore said.

Michael smoothed his hair back into place exactly as it was before, with a little piece sticking up in the front. Theodore finally smiled.

* * *

In Chemistry, a speaker on the intercom announced track practice would be moved to Tuesday instead of Monday just for this week. Michael didn’t have time to infer a reason for the change before having to stop his lab partner from combining vinegar and bleach.

Spanish came next. Fernando was absent, but that didn’t stop Michael from claiming him as his partner for the upcoming project. His last class couldn’t end fast enough. After the final bell rang, he met Theodore by the front office. They walked along the sidewalk till they arrived at a pizzeria called “Abruzzi’s” down the street from Fox River High School. Theodore went up to the counter, where an older, short-haired boy was taking orders. His name tag read “John.”

“Two slices of pepperoni,” Theodore started, and glanced back at Michael. “What do you want?”

“Pineapple and ham,” Michael whispered.

“Pineapple. Mm. And two slices of pineapple and ham. And two waters,” he said, turning back to the counter.

“That’ll be five-fifty,” John said, his accent thick.

Theodore furrowed his brows as he pulled a few dollars out of his pocket. “Did your prices go up?” he murmured.

“No,” John said slowly.

Michael watched him recount the money. “I’m short a few cents,” he said. Michael checked his pockets for change, regretting leaving his wallet at home.

“I could give you the pizza for free,” John told him.

Theodore turned pleading eyes towards him. “You will?”

John leaned over the counter. “Depends. What will you give me in return?”                      

Theodore stiffened and glanced at Michael. “I thought we were done,” he said.

“Bygones,” John said simply.

Theodore chewed his lip. Michael found a dime shining beneath the counter.

“Here,” he said, and pushed the dime across the counter along with a few pennies. “Is that enough?”

John stared at him awhile before collecting the change and Theodore’s dollars. “That’ll do it,” he said. He sliced up the pizzas in front of them and handed over their plates and water cups with a low, “Enjoy.”

Theodore grabbed their plates and headed to the table furthest from the counter. “Sorry, Pretty,” he began, “I thought I’d have enough money.”

They sat down and Michael sipped his water. “No worries,” he said, and took a bite of his pizza. Theodore did the same.

“You like it?” Theodore asked.

Michael sent him a reassuring smile. “It’s really good.”

“Yeah,” Theodore agreed, “I’d suggest another place if there was anyone better.”

Michael nodded, his mouth full. He swallowed and asked, “You know him?”

“Mhm.”

“Does he go to Fox River?”

“Used to. He’s graduated now.”

Michael wondered how old John was, if that was the case.

“Go on, you can ask,” Theodore said. “S’not gonna hurt nobody to ask.”

Michael set his pizza down and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Did you date?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Theodore replied.

“Did it end badly?” Michael asked next.

Theodore gave a little laugh. “I guess not quite as bad as I thought.”

Michael dipped his crust in a little side of marinara sauce. Theodore nudged him with his foot under the table, shoes kicked off.

“Not that I’m interested in anybody but you, Pretty,” he said.

Michael tried to eat casually as Theodore continued to play footsie with him under the dark red tablecloth. He almost choked on his pizza when he felt the foot climb higher. Theodore smirked.

“Don’t eat too fast, now,” he teased.

Michael glared at him after he’d recovered, sucking down the rest of his water.

Theodore placed his foot very delicately over the zipper of Michael’s jeans. Michael jumped, his face heating.

“ _Relax,_ Pretty,” Theodore drawled, flexing his toes slowly.

Michael covered his mouth and closed his eyes, one hundred percent sure that Theodore would keep at this game until he had a mess in his pants. “Stop,” he hissed.

“Are you sure?” Theodore retorted, pressing more firmly.

Michael’s chair made a screech as he stood up. The grin fell off Theodore’s face.

“Michael?”

“I’ll be back,” he said, and went to the bathroom. He felt like he was on fire. Michael splashed his face with cold water and took deep breaths. He felt someone behind him as he dried off with paper towels.

“I said I’d be back,” Michael told him.

“Did you? You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” said a voice that was most-definitely-not Theodore’s. Michael turned around to see John towering over him just before getting slammed into the bathroom wall.

Dazed, Michael forced himself to focus on John’s face and the terrifying anger in his eyes.

“I know what you were doing,” John said, and stepped down hard on his toes. “Don’t think I won’t cut these off if I see you in here again.”

Michael’s eyes watered as John crushed his toes with a twist of his ankle. Theodore burst in then, having heard the sound of Michael’s head hitting the wall.

“John, what the hell?” he yelled.

John let go of Michael and took a step back. Theodore stormed over and put his arm around him. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm okay," Michael whispered.

Theodore could have let out a growl with the snarl he wore, the expression so matched his fury. "How dare you?"

"How dare I?" John demanded, "How dare you! Bringing your new toy into my shop—"

Michael made a face as Theodore stepped between them.

"First of all, big boy, this is your _parents'_ shop," Theodore said, tilting his head, "Second, who I fuck is none of your business!"

Michael backed out of the bathroom, feeling more than uncomfortable. Theodore followed him, calling back to John, "Just leave me alone."

Michael passed by his half-eaten slice in a rush. Theodore reached for his arm and Michael shrugged him off, pushing open the front door and stepping out onto the sidewalk before Theodore could get ahold of him. Michael spun around as Theodore grabbed his arm.

"Is that what you think of me?" he asked, brows pinching, "I'm just someone you're—you're gonna fuck?"

"No," Theodore said softly, "no, Pretty. I'm sorry."

Michael pulled out of his grip again and strode down the sidewalk. Theodore walked alongside him.

"You just wanted to show me to your ex," Michael said.

"I didn't," Theodore argued. "I just wanted to get pizza with you. Stupid, I know."

Michael's pace slowed somewhat. "It wasn't stupid."

"I didn't even have enough money."

Michael stopped and faced him. "What would you have done for the free pizza?" he asked. 

Theodore shrugged. "Whatever he wanted."

Michael shook his head. "You can't do that."

"I can,” he said deliberately. “Besides, you act like sex is a bad thing."

Michael examined him for signs of deceit. "You don't have to do anything like that for me," he said.

"Even if it got us a nice date? Free food?"

"Even so," Michael replied seriously.

Theodore looked up at him with a slight shine to his eyes. "I'm sorry for what John said," he told him.

"Forget John," Michael said.

Theodore smiled lightly. "C'mere," he cooed, bringing Michael's face down to him.

For a moment it was like all the bustling bodies on the sidewalk and taxis in the street and birds in the trees ceased to exist, and it was just Theodore's lips on his. And then it all came rushing back as a car honked at them.

Michael ducked his head. Theodore didn't care. He hugged him and asked, "You're really okay, right? John didn't hurt you?"

Michael glanced at his foot, although he couldn't tell the status of his toes through his shoe. "I'll be okay," he decided. "But I don't think we should go back."

"I agree," Theodore said wholeheartedly.

They enjoyed visiting some of the small shops along the road before Michael led them to the repair shop Lincoln worked at. He found him, or his legs rather, sticking out from under a car as he tinkered with the underside of the vehicle.

"Linc," Michael called, Theodore still at his side.

Lincoln responded to his name by trying to sit up, incidentally bumping his head and laying back down. "Mikey, is that you?" he called dramatically.

Michael hooked his good foot under the creeper Lincoln was lying on and rolled it towards him. "It's me," he said.

Lincoln sat up and rubbed his forehead. He sent a glance Theodore's way and asked, "You two have fun?"

"Yes," Michael said, and Theodore looked surprised. Michael smiled at him and told Lincoln, "I have to get home to study, though."

Lincoln stood and dusted himself off. "Alright. Theodore, you need a ride?"

"Oh, no, I'm gonna walk," he said.

"You live close?"

"Mhm."

"Alright. C'mon, Michael. I have to take you and come right back."

Michael furrowed his brows as Lincoln starting walking and talking, looking for his boss. Michael said a quick goodbye and a "see you tomorrow" to Theodore before trotting after him. Lincoln stopped at the open office door.

"Boss," he said, "I'm gonna take my little brother home."

"Don't be long," the old man called back.

Lincoln turned to Michael and put a hand at the small of his back, shuffling him along as they found Lincoln's truck in the parking lot.

"What's the rush?" Michael asked.

Lincoln got in the driver's seat and Michael climbed in next to him. "I'm trying to get more hours," he said.

"For more money," Michael stated.

"Yup."

"For...?" Michael asked.

Lincoln sighed. "An apartment for us."

"What?"

"I—I promised you that if Mom hit you, I wasn't going to stand around and watch."

"Linc, it was just a slap."

"You know it was more than that, Mikey. You think she'll stop with a slap? With your hair? Do you remember when she made me stand out on Central Avenue half-naked?"

Michael did, but whatever crime Lincoln committed to warrant the punishment eluded him.

"It can only get worse without Dad around," Lincoln said, "It's been a year and has Mom made any apologies since then? No."

"You can't blame Dad's death on Mom," Michael countered. 

"He went out because they were fighting," Lincoln argued.

"I know, Linc," Michael murmured, "I remember."

They pulled into the driveway and Lincoln turned to Michael. "So you don't want to live with me?" he asked.

Michael put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly. "You're my home, Linc. Whatever you decide, that's where I want to be."

Lincoln smiled and gave him a nod. Michael hopped out of the truck and unlocked the front door, waving as Lincoln backed out and went back to work.

* * *

Michael went to study for the English test in his room, but his thoughts continuously drifted away from the textbook. His room looked exactly how he left it, except he knew the magazines tucked into volume six of his encyclopedias were missing. How had Christina known about them? Did she overhear Lincoln mention them? Did she regularly search his room for contraband without him knowing? Michael hoped with all his might there wasn't a camera hidden somewhere. He flew off his bed and scoured the room for one, but came up empty. Curiously, the bottle of lube Lincoln had gifted him still remained in the pant leg of one of his pairs of khakis, in the bottom drawer of his dresser. Michael turned red at the thought of what Lincoln's self-care regimen might look like, or if it was solely for Veronica's benefit. He turned even redder at the idea of why Lincoln might find it an appropriate gift for him.

_Besides, you act like sex is a bad thing._

Michael shut the drawer and went back to studying, but the thought of Theodore's foot on his crotch persisted. He took off his sock and examined the toes John had stepped on.

They weren't red anymore, but tomorrow they might be blue. Michael flexed them carefully, wondering how Theodore found himself romantically involved with such a brute.

Christina came home before Lincoln, dumping a pile of manuscripts on her desk before calling Michael down to help with the groceries. Michael put them away as Christina started on dinner.

"How was school?" she asked.

"It was good," Michael said. He'd admit to being ashamed as soon as Lincoln did.

"Are you learning any Spanish?"

"Uh huh." Michael tucked away two cereal boxes as Christina tossed a salad.

"Why don't you say something for me?" she prompted.

Michael withheld a sigh. "Mi mama es bonita," he said.

"Aww," Christina said, and reached for him. Michael hugged her reluctantly.

She let him go and added croutons to the salad. "And how's math?"

"Easy," Michael replied.

"Are you getting good grades?"

"So far," he said.

"You think Lincoln will ever go to college?"

"He's saved a lot of money," Michael said, not liking her tone.

"Money can only get you so far," Christina countered, tapping her temple as she met Michael's eyes. Michael grimaced. Lincoln wasn't stupid. It wasn't his fault they'd moved around so much—it would affect anyone's grades.

"But you're going to college, aren't you, Michael?" She set down the salad spoons and cupped his face. "My smart boy."

Michael felt an itch in his throat, to say something, defend his brother, yell. But saying something might ruin the evening. He didn't want another punishment. He nodded and Christina kissed his head. His stomach churned at the decision. It only grew worse when Lincoln got home.

His brother walked into the family room covered from head to toe in soot. Christina narrowed her eyes at him from the kitchen table.

"I know," Lincoln said, "Shower first." Michael watched him trudge up the stairs, rubbing out a knot in his shoulder as he went. He came back a few minutes later in an old t-shirt and boxers. Christina shook her head at him. Lincoln went back upstairs and returned with pants on.

Finally, they were allowed to eat. It wasn't always like this, but when Christina cooked, she preferred to have both boys there to compliment her.

Plates full with Caesar salad and chicken alfredo, Michael was grateful.  He could tell Lincoln was too by the way he ate. It made his insides twist, how blissfully unaware Lincoln was of his betrayal. He slowed his eating.

"What's wrong, Michael?" Christina asked, "You don't like it?"

Michael turned to Lincoln and saw concern reflected in his eyes. Suddenly he couldn't fight the bile rising in his throat and he ran to the bathroom.

No sooner had he braced himself over the toilet than was Lincoln by his side, asking if he was alright. Michael shook his head.

"Did you eat something bad?" Lincoln asked.

Michael shook his head again, his throat raw, head pounding. He reached up shakily and flushed the toilet. Lincoln took a towel and wiped his mouth, earning a reprimand from Christina, who stood in the doorway of the small bathroom.

"Those are the guest towels, Lincoln!"

Lincoln kicked the door shut with his foot and turned his attention back to Michael, ignoring the stream of indignation on the other side of the door. "Did something happen at school?" he asked next, his hand warm on Michael's back as he rubbed smooth circles into his shirt. "With Theodore?"

Michael gathered his courage and faced Lincoln with teary eyes. "Mom called you stupid and I didn't say anything!" he confessed.

Lincoln furrowed his brows. "What? Is that all?"

Michael closed his eyes, ashamed to be crying again so soon.

"Mikey," Lincoln called, "Come here." He pulled him to his chest. "You're so sensitive sometimes," he murmured.

Michael wound his hand in Lincoln's soft shirt. "Aren't you—" he sniffled, "mad at me?"

Lincoln shook his head, his arms around Michael. "No, Mikey. I understand."

Michael sat up and faced him to be sure. Lincoln took another one of the "guest" towels and dried his face. "You can't let her get to you," he said, "Don't let her break you. Stay strong."

Michael sighed and hugged him, his bad feelings released to the wind, or rather the toilet. Lincoln helped him out of the bathroom and up the stairs, leaving him in his bedroom before returning with cold water for Michael to sip. Michael did so carefully and set the glass on his nightstand next to his cranes. Lincoln sat on the edge of the bed.

"Mom says you can stay home from school if you're still sick tomorrow," he told him.

Michael's initial surprise fled after he remembered his English test. "I don't think I can," he said.

"Go easy on yourself," Lincoln replied, "School isn't more important than you."

Michael smiled at him and patted the bed by his side. Lincoln sat up against the headboard as Michael reached for his arm and put it around his shoulders.

"Nothing else made you sick?" Lincoln asked. "Just Mom's insults?"

"I don't know," Michael whispered. "I just felt like a coward. You would stand up for me if the situation were reversed."

"You're damn right, I would," Lincoln said, getting a little laugh from Michael. "But it's like I said. Don't let her get to you."

Michael nodded solemnly and closed his eyes. Lincoln started to move off the bed and Michael grabbed his arm.

"Don't go."

"Mikey—"

"Please?"

Lincoln couldn't resist the sleepy pleading look of Michael's. "Alright," he said, "For a few more minutes."

Michael laid down under the blankets, content when he felt Lincoln's fingertips trail lightly over his back. He was about to drift off when he thought of something.

"Will you leave me a crane in the morning?" he mumbled, mouth half-covered by his pillow.

"A what? Oh, yeah. I will," Lincoln promised.

"Thank you."

Lincoln smiled and pulled the blankets up to Michael's shoulder. "Love you," he whispered.

"Love you more," Michael managed.

"Doubt it," Lincoln teased. "Goodnight." He turned off Michael's lamp and shut the door behind him as he left. Michael fell asleep, mildly frustrated that he couldn't figure out a good comeback in time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoy this chapter! C:

The crane was there for him in the morning, just as Lincoln promised. Michael sat up, the blankets falling off his chest, and picked up the paper bird, trying to memorize the shapes within the shape. It didn't take him very long. When he was satisfied, he set the crane next to the others and positioned the three so they faced each other. Michael sipped his water, assessed himself for queasiness, and decided yesterday's illness was the result of mind over matter. He got ready for school and found Christina sipping coffee over a painfully white manuscript.

"Mom," Michael called.

Christina jolted, the mug in her hand disturbed just enough to spill a drop of brown onto the pages below. She set her jaw, put the coffee down, and patted at the wannabe publication with a napkin.

"I'm sorry," Michael blurted.

"What do I say about apologies?" Christina asked, eyes flicking up from the stain to meet his.

"Don't give you a reason to apologize in the first place," he said, heart sinking.

"That's correct."

Michael waited for her to say more, but she went back to reading, and he wasn't sure what he wanted to ask in the first place. He moved around the kitchen quietly, poured his own coffee, and picked something to eat that wouldn't make a lot of unnecessary noise. He sat across from his mother and watched her flip to the next page. She didn't turn the page again before saying, as though physically pained, "Michael. I can't read with you staring at me."

"I'm s—"

Christina cut him off with a cold glare.

Michael averted his eyes and stirred his oatmeal. Christina went back to reading with an exasperated sigh. Michael observed her again after a moment.

"Is everything alright, Mom?" he asked.

Christina faced him, clearly irritated, but she knew that Michael was genuine as often as Lincoln was sarcastic. "I have three more of these to read by tomorrow," she said, "and I'm expected to write feedback that isn't just ‘this is absolute shit.’”

Michael laughed a little, and Christina rubbed her temples. "Maybe I can help," he offered.

"You would?"

Michael nodded, surprised by the change in her. Christina went to get the other three manuscripts and let Michael pick which one he wanted to read. He put it in a folder in his backpack as Christina smiled and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, honey. Just write a summary of the plot for me. And if you want to critique it, go right ahead."

Michael nodded, smiling, and told her he'd get started reading on the bus.

* * *

The test in English was to analyze a poem and connect it to a personal experience. Michael thought it put some students at a disadvantage, the poem being about death and loss. His father nagged at him from the back of his mind, begging to be the subject of his writing, not the insignificant squirrel that Lincoln had run over at age 16. But Michael put up the wall for a reason. The squirrel was a metaphor, and that's as close as Michael was to letting Aldo Burrows into the forefront of his mind.

Michael planned to read Christina's manuscript between classes, but with the sky a dark gray he didn't want to risk getting the pages wet. Algebra was a decent distraction from the morbid poem of his English class, and Theodore a better one.

"What'd ya do when you got home yesterday?" he asked, the class supposedly working in pairs to answer the discussion questions.

"I thought about you," Michael replied, admiring the bedhead look that Theodore had going for him today.

Theodore lit up with a grin. "Did you now?" He reached for Michael's thigh under their desks, set up side by side. Michael grabbed his hand and put it back on the tabletop.

"Don't look at me like that," Michael said, fixing his eyes on his notes.

Theodore somehow managed to put more lust into his gaze, tongue on his lips making them shine. "Like this?"

Michael looked at him despite his best efforts. "Yes," he whispered, "You're distracting me." He pretended to read the textbook.

Theodore took advantage of the hand still gripping his and ran his thumb over Michael's fingers, gradually getting him to relax. Michael turned to him. "What did you do when you got home?" he asked.

Theodore smiled at him. 

"Wait, don't answer that," Michael urged.

"Why do you assume it's something dirty?"

"You're telling me you didn't do something dirty?"

"I _always_ do something dirty," Theodore teased, "but not necessarily what you're thinking."

Michael shook his head. "Alright, then. What did you do?"

Theodore tapped his pencil on the textbook with his free hand. "I did my chores," he began.

"Which include...?" Michael prompted.

"Taking out the trash, mowing the lawn, doing the dishes, sweeping, mopping."

"You did all of that?" Michael asked.

"Most of that," Theodore replied. "And then I took a shower and I thought of you..."

Michael fought the pink in his cheeks.

"And then I made dinner for my mama."

Michael smiled. "Are you close?"

Theodore stuck his pencil behind his ear. "Oh, yeah," he said, "We have great conversations. Of course, I do most of the talking, but she's a good listener."

"Why's that?" Michael asked.

"Well, she's a little..." He drummed his fingers against his head. "But it's okay. She loves me."

Michael felt a twinge of jealousy that he tried to squash. He squeezed Theodore's hand and they finished their classwork together.

* * *

The line for the cafeteria was long, but Michael had brought a little cash with him before leaving the house, and hot food sounded good with the gloomy weather outside. Sara stood beside him, rocking on her feet every now and then when the line stayed still for too long.

“What made you change your hair?” Sara asked suddenly, like she’d been thinking about asking since spotting him without his baseball cap.

“Oh, you know moms,” Michael replied, “Long hair means I’m turning into a delinquent.”

Sara laughed and didn’t bother to question him further. “You and Theodore seem close,” she said, scanning the lunch room casually.

“Yes,” Michael said, smiling to himself. Sara fiddled with her hair.

“But I’d still like to hang out with you,” Michael added. “I really did have fun at the mall.”

“Me too,” Sara said, the color returning to her rosy cheeks. The line moved forward. A sign announced a special today: “Abruzzi’s Catering.”

“Oh no,” Michael muttered.

“What?” Sara asked.

“John Abruzzi.”

“John Abruzzi?”

“John Abruzzi,” Michael said lowly, spying him behind the counter, opening pizza boxes and slicing them up at a record-breaking speed.

“Who’s John Abruzzi?” Sara asked, concerned.

Michael took his sunglasses out of his backpack and put them on. “Let’s just say he’s not a friend, and I’m not getting pizza today.” The security guard finally let them into the food-serving area and Michael opted for a plain looking chicken sandwich, breezing past the “Abruzzi’s” line, and leaving a confused Sara behind. He quickly scooped some diced pears and chocolate pudding onto his plate before turning around and seeing Sara talking to the man himself. She pointed at Michael as John set down his pizza slicer and demanded, “Who do you think you are?”

Michael set down his tray and pushed through all the hungry bodies to get to Sara. He put his arm around her side, pulling her away from John as he asked, "What are you doing?”

Sara pushed his arm off and said, “Standing up for you.” She turned back to John and declared, “Leave Michael alone or you’ll have me to deal with.”

John laughed. “I beg your pardon, little miss, but I’ll ask again—who do you think you are?”

“Sara Tancredi,” she said, “and my father is a very powerful man.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” John mocked, “The Governor’s going to get me!”

Sara crossed her arms and stood her ground.

“Listen, you two,” John said, his voice a near growl, “I don’t have time for little women and little twinks. Scram.”

Michael was glad he was still wearing his sunglasses so John couldn’t see how downright furious the comment made him. He took Sara’s hand and went to reclaim his chicken sandwich tray. She tugged out of his grip and huffed. “Who said I was done talking to him?”

“I did,” Michael said.

Sara was about to storm off and get her own food when Michael stopped her, a gentle hand on her arm. “Thank you, Sara,” he murmured, “It means a lot that you did that.”

She mellowed and replied, “You stood up for me.”

He nodded, saying, “I just want you to be safe. John Abruzzi spells trouble.”

Sara chewed her lip. “Alright. But tell me if he messes with you. I meant what I said.”

Michael nodded and let her go. They bought their food and sat at the table with the others. For Theodore’s sake, Michael didn’t mention anything that had just occurred.

* * *

Michael was pleasantly surprised by the smile Fernando brought to his face when he saw him in Spanish class. Fernando, on the other hand, did not look so happy. Michael sat down, putting the topic of the project aside for a moment as Fernando started a slightly hushed rant.

"Bro, your promise ring idea got me in serious trouble! I don't know what to do! And Maricruz is pissed! I can't see her, I can't go anywhere—"

"Whoa, slow down," Michael said. "What happened?"

Fernando looked like he could barely contain his anger. "I wanted to get Maricruz a promise ring like you said."

Michael waited for him to go on. Fernando lost some of the bite in his words.

"But I didn't have any money. Those rings are expensive, so I thought, how can I get the money quick? And I knocked over a liquor store."

Michael's eyes widened. "Why didn't you try to save the money? Be patient?"

Fernando rolled his eyes. " _Because_ , Papi, my cousin is making the moves on Maricruz! She needed to know how much I loved her right now!"

"Your cousin," Michael said dryly.

"Sí, lo sé. Now I'm in trouble with the law."

"How much trouble?"

"House arrest. But it could've been a lot worse. The gun I used was fake, 'cause I didn't wanna hurt nobody."

"Fernando..."

Fernando rubbed his head. "I know, I know. Stupid. Maricruz thinks I'm stupid too."

Michael put a hand on his shoulder. "Does she know why you did it?"

"Sí..."

"Did you promise not to do something like that again?" Michael asked.

"No, see, that's the problem! I can only go to school or be at home and she doesn't go here and she doesn't want to visit."

Michael sighed, and Fernando followed. "She'll come around," Michael decided. "Have a little faith."

Fernando glanced at him, momentarily free from his moping. "You're right, Papi. I have faith in Maricruz. She'll choose me. I hope..."

Class started and Michael explained the project they'd be working on together. They made plans for Michael to come over after school the next day—as long as Fernando’s parents were okay with it.

* * *

Michael changed into his basketball shorts and athletic shirt in the bathroom after school ended. Now he would look the part, and he wouldn’t have to sweat through his jeans.

As Michael trotted down to the football field, the sky opened up and released a downpour from its watery prison, soaking through the hood he pulled over his head in no time, and soon seeping deeper into his clothes. Alex gathered the team under an awning, giving Michael a squinted nod as the leftover rain dripped in his eyes.

“Normally, I’d have us run a few laps anyway,” Michael heard him say, “but as some of you saw, Heath’s hair was sticking straight up a second ago—”

A flash of white filled the sky, followed by a tremendous boom.

“—which means it’s not safe for us to be outside. No one wants to get struck by lightning, right?”

Michael caught one of the boys mumbling in disagreement.

“So let’s go dry off in the locker room. We’ll give it fifteen minutes and if the rain doesn’t let up, you can all go home. Okay?”

“Okay,” Michael said, and then cleared his throat when he was the only one to answer. Alex smiled at him and waved for the boys to follow him to the locker room, shaking his head when a few took off running despite his warnings. Michael walked with Alex as the other boys sped ahead, eager to change into dry clothing while Alex seemed less motivated.

“Do you like the rain?” Michael asked him, halfway to the locker room.

Alex eyed him with half a smile and said, “I find it relaxing to listen to.”

Thunder clapped overhead. Michael pointed to the sky. “Even that?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” Alex answered, facing him as he opened the door to the gym. “Loud sounds normally make me jump, but… with thunder, you kind of feel it in your chest, you know?”

“Like fireworks,” Michael replied.

Alex shut the door behind them, an almost surprised look on his face. “Exactly,” he said. He tugged the wet headband out of his hair and wrung it out over the sink once they reached the locker room. Michael unzipped his backpack and took out the clothes he’d changed out of moments before. They were a little damp, but incidentally protected his notebooks, and his mother's manuscript, from taking any damage. He changed swiftly. The clothes provided an illusion of warmth in contrast with the cold rain, and Michael turned to say something about it to Alex when he found the other boy missing.

Michael hung up his clothes to dry as he asked the other members if they’d seen him. Finally, the red-haired boy named Heath revealed Alex usually changed in the bathroom.

Interesting. Alex didn’t seem like the modest type to him, but he didn’t seem too arrogant either. Whichever was the truth, Michael thought Alex didn’t have a reason to hide. Michael walked away from Heath and made the trip down the hallway to the boys’ bathroom, catching Alex patting his face dry as he exited a stall. Michael stopped short as their eyes met.

“What?” Alex said, a furrow forming between his brows.

Michael took a breath. Maybe it wasn’t his place to comment. There was a dark blue bruise on Alex’s cheek where there wasn’t one before. Michael tapped his own cheekbone in reply.

The furrow deepened and then Alex glanced at the towel in his hand, its whiteness stained with tan foundation. “Shit,” Alex hissed.

Michael didn’t know what to say, but Alex did. He pulled him back into the stall with him, not three inches between them as he lowered his voice into a threatening tenor.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” Alex said.

“I won’t,” Michael whispered.

“Swear on your mother’s grave,” he commanded, his breath gracing Michael's face.

“I swear,” Michael replied, still calm. “Alex—”

“They can’t know. This—this is—oh, Michael, this is more than embarrassing, it’s _mortifying_ —”

Michael cupped a hand to Alex’s uninjured cheek. “I won’t tell,” he said.

Alex nodded hesitantly.

“Who did this to you?” Michael asked, his hand returning to his side.

Alex looked torn. His eyes fell to his feet, and Michael tipped his chin up.

“You can tell me,” he assured him.

Alex swallowed hard. “My father,” he said.

Michael wasn’t all that surprised, given the lengths Alex had taken to cover it up. He was even wearing a long-sleeved athletic shirt, differing from his usual sleeveless style. “Are you okay?” Michael asked next.

Alex looked away from him again, eyes fixating on a bug in the corner of the bathroom stall. “I will be,” he said.

“What about now?” Michael asked.

Alex shook his head. “Yesterday I could hardly move. Had to move practice to today.”

Michael nodded, though he could feel the familiar break in his chest—this time, it wasn’t breaking for himself.

“This, uh,” Alex held up the hand towel, “is my mother’s makeup. I just didn’t want anyone to see. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s wrong,” Michael said firmly. “Can’t you go to the police?”

Alex wore a pained expression. “That’s the thing, Michael. My father is a policeman.”

The stall rattled as another boom of thunder rolled across the sky. Michael’s lips parted. “I’m sorry, Alex,” he said.

Alex offered him a smile. “Another two years and I’ll be free. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Michael argued, “You shouldn’t have to live like that.”

Alex raised his brows and said, “Remember what you promised?”

“I won’t tell,” Michael murmured. “But—”

“No buts. I can take care of myself.”

“You can cover the bruise again?”

“Well, no… I didn’t think I’d need to _reapply.”_

Michael processed the information and pushed out of the bathroom stall. “I’ll be right back,” he told him.

Alex stayed put, mildly confused. Michael returned a few minutes later, slipping into the stall beside him even though it wasn’t necessary now.

“I told everyone you decided practice was canceled. They’ve all left.”

Alex gave a great sigh of relief, his whole body reacting to the news. He hugged Michael. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Michael had the sense to hug him lightly in case there were more bruises lurking under his shirt. Alex let him go, unable to help his smile. “You’re a genius,” he said.

Michael shrugged, smiling at the small amount of support he was able to give. “Do you need to get home or can we stick around for a while?” Michael asked. “Listen to the rain?”

“The latter,” Alex told him. They spent the rest of the hour watching the rain pour from an open doorway, snacking on chips and candy they got out of the hallway’s vending machine.

* * *

Michael was relieved to sit in Lincoln’s truck when he came to pick him up. The rain still came down in buckets, putting the windshield wipers to work as Lincoln drove them home.

“So how was your day?” Lincoln asked when Michael was uncharacteristically quiet.

“I have to tell you something,” Michael blurted.

Lincoln tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever it was. “Okay.”

“If I know one of my friends is being abused, what can I do to help him?”

Lincoln’s face faltered before he pulled the truck to the side of the road and parked. “Who’s being abused, Michael?”

Michael fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket. “I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

Lincoln gaped at him for a moment before saying, “How are you supposed to help him if you can’t say who he is?”

“First I need to know if I _can_ help him,” Michael said. “I don’t want to break a promise for nothing.”

Lincoln sighed. “Alright. What kind of abuse is it?”

Michael quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Physical?” Lincoln suggested. “Emotional, mental?” He gave a beat. “Sexual?”

“Physical,” Michael replied curtly.

“And you know because he told you?”

“Yes. He had a bruise on the side of his face, too.”

“Has he ever gone to the police?” Lincoln asked.

“He can’t. Father’s a police officer.”

“Oh,” Lincoln murmured. “That makes things harder. But he could still file a report. Whether they believe him…”

Michael frowned. “Any other suggestions?”

Lincoln scratched his head. “You could tell a teacher. You have to tell her his name, though. She’ll contact CPS.”

“What if he hates me for telling someone?” Michael asked.

Lincoln cupped a hand to his cheek. “Then don’t. Just tell him he has options.”

“I don’t think he’ll tell anyone. He said he was embarrassed.”

“Then you’ll just have to be his friend. Let him know you’re there for him.”

“Lincoln,” Michael said, his throat going tight, “I can’t let Alex go another two years—”

“Alex?” Lincoln questioned.

Michael’s expression crumbled. “I told him I wouldn’t tell.”

“Okay, okay,” Lincoln said, stroking Michael’s cheek. “Take a breath.”

Michael did.

“Do you think he’s in immediate danger?” Lincoln asked.

“I don’t know,” Michael muttered, feeling useless.

“It’s alright,” Lincoln said, “Talk to him more tomorrow. I don’t want you to stress about it. You have your own problems to deal with.”

“But Linc…”

“This is something you do, you know? You latch onto other people’s pain to distract you from your own.”

Michael blinked and turned his gaze to his feet. He asked, almost to himself, “I do?”

“Uh huh. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. But you can’t take on the world—there’s only so much you can do. See what I’m saying?”

Michael sighed. "Yeah."

Lincoln smoothed his hand over Michael's head and rested it at the back of his neck. "If Alex decides he does want help, tell me."

"Okay."

Lincoln squeezed Michael's shoulder and drove them home.

* * *

Christina demanded absolute silence from the boys when they got home, saying she couldn’t finish her work otherwise. Lincoln put headphones on and listened to music while Michael went back to reading the manuscript he’d picked out, the two on separate couches in the family room. He flipped through its pages, trying to determine how long it would take him to finish. Probably well into the night.

Lincoln let out a snore from his lazy position on the couch. Michael smiled and gave him a nudge when his gurgles became more like a grizzly bear roar. He jumped and blinked at Michael. “Was I snoring?” he asked innocently.

“No, you were hibernating,” Michael whispered, grinning at his joke. Lincoln chuckled and adjusted the throw pillow under his head.

“You made much progress with that?” he asked.

“No,” Michael said. “It’s so boring. The author thinks he’s a poet, but he’s really just ranting…”

“You sound like Mom,” Lincoln teased.

“Very funny.”

Lincoln put his headphones back over his ears and Michael read a few more pages.

“Linc?” he called.

Lincoln opened one eye and tugged off his headphones. “Yeah?”

“Do you think I’m feminine?”

Lincoln squinted at him. “Huh?”

“Just give me your honest opinion.”

“No, Mikey. Someone call you a girl?”

“A twink,” Michael told him.

Lincoln sat up on the couch, thick brows pinched together. “Who, Mikey? I’ll beat him up for you.”

Michael laughed slightly.

“I’m serious,” Lincoln replied, face a complete deadpan.

“I know,” Michael said. It wouldn’t be the first time Lincoln took measures into his own hands. Michael continued, “It doesn’t matter who said it.”

“It does to me,” he argued. “If some asshole’s bullying you, I’m going to take care of it.”

“So you don’t think I’m girly? Too skinny?”

Lincoln scooted closer to Michael so he could put a hand on his shoulder. “No. Who called you that?”

Michael gave in. “John Abruzzi.”

“John Abruzzi… Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Theodore’s ex,” Michael informed him. “His parents own the pizzeria near the school.”

Lincoln nodded and stood up, picking his keys out of a ceramic dish on his way to the front door. Michael rushed after him.

“Wait, wait, Linc,” he said, grabbing his arm, “You’re not going to talk to him now, are you?”

“Talk? No,” Lincoln said gruffly.

“Lincoln, please,” Michael urged, holding him back as Lincoln reached for the door handle, “I don’t want you to get in trouble. I don’t know how old he is. He might be closer to your age… He’s tall too. Lincoln!”

Lincoln pulled out of his grip and opened the door as Christina emerged from her bedroom. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

Michael let go of Lincoln and looked up at him for a second before saying, "Lincoln wanted to get pizza."

"And you were stopping him because...?"

"I'm still feeling queasy," Michael answered.

Christina crossed her arms. "Why didn't you ask me what I wanted?"

Michael's lips parted and Lincoln asked dryly, "You want pizza?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Here, Lincoln." Christina took her purse off a decorative hook on the wall and gave him money out of her wallet. "Don't forget the mushrooms," she said, and went back to her bedroom. Michael looked at Lincoln silently.

"I'll be back in a few," he said, and left.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sexual coercion in this chapter. It starts when Michael follows Theodore to the bathroom, and ends with "he really couldn't face anyone with what he'd just done" if you want to skip it.
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoy this one--I promise it's not a sobfest. :)

Lincoln came home thirty minutes later clutching two pizza boxes. Michael jumped up from Christina's chair, too worried to read the manuscript. He wrenched the pizza boxes from Lincoln's grip, tossed them on the couch, and turned Lincoln's hands over so he could examine his bloody knuckles. Michael glared at him and turned to stew in another room as Lincoln said, "It's not what you think."

Michael eyed him suspiciously. "Don't lie to me," he said.

Lincoln help up his hands. "I'm not, bro. Come see." He walked back out the front door. Michael followed him to the truck, where Lincoln opened the passenger door and revealed a square, open box with a dirty towel inside. Michael raised his brows, eyes darting back to the box when the towel moved. Lincoln reached in and lifted the rag, a small gray kitten underneath.

“Aw,” Michael cooed softly.

"I heard her crying in a storm drain. Got scraped up trying to grab her," Lincoln said. Michael noticed the kitten shivering and picked her up, holding the wet thing close to his chest. "I think she liked having the pizzas to warm her," Lincoln joked, showing Michael how the box he'd scrounged from someone's recycling bin had been stacked on top of the pizza boxes.

Michael laughed and said, "Let's get her inside." He petted the cat's head gently and Lincoln went to get a clean towel from the linen closet. Christina came to get her pizza when she saw the boys tucking the kitten, mostly dry, back into the little box with a soft towel as bedding.

"What's this?" she asked, gesturing to the cat bed. The kitten mewed and laid her head down on her paws.

"Lincoln rescued a cat!" Michael declared. "Can we keep her?"

Christina's first thought was to say no, but she was grateful for Michael's help with her editing work. "If," she said carefully, "and  _only_  if the two of you pay for its food and litter box."

Michael grinned and hugged her. "Thanks, Mom!" he said, his arms around Lincoln in the next second.

Christina waved it off, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. She and Lincoln picked their pizza slices and drinks while Michael watched the kitten sleep. Lincoln pushed a plate into his hand as he sat on the floor beside him.

"You got pineapple and ham," Michael said in awe.

Lincoln rolled his eyes as he ate a bite of sausage and mushroom. "I was thinking about you. This isn't from Abruzzi's, by the way."

Michael could tell it looked different. Now to test if it tasted different... But that didn't matter so much. He moved his focus back to Lincoln. "So you didn't go?"

"No. The cat over here distracted me."

Michael smiled.

"But—" Lincoln began. Michael's smile fell. Lincoln lowered his voice. "I plan to give him a  _talking to_. Whether fists get involved is up to him."

Michael chewed thoughtfully. "Thank you, Lincoln," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. As much as I don't want you to get hurt, I do feel... Better." He could put the comment behind him now.

Lincoln grinned, cheeks misshapen with the pizza crust stuffed in his mouth. "Good," he garbled.

Michael's attempt to contain his laughter turned into a snort, and then they both burst into bubbling laughter.

* * *

In World History the next day, Theodore arrived a few minutes after class started and handed the teacher his late slip. She put it on her desk as Theodore took his seat by Michael, not pausing the lecture to acknowledge his tardiness. Michael waited for Theodore to make eye contact so he could give him a wave, or a smile, but the other boy just laid his head on his arms like he was going to nap. Michael decided to write neater in case he needed to borrow his notes. After a few minutes Ms. Kirkwood tapped on Theodore's desk with a terse, "No sleeping in my class."

Theodore mumbled an apology and opened his textbook, gazing foggily at the words. Ms. Kirkwood walked away from them and Michael asked, "Are you okay?"

Theodore met him with red, puffy eyes and a forced smile. "I'm fine."

Michael frowned and gave his shoulder a squeeze when the teacher wasn't looking. He knew Theodore got mad if he pushed, so he wouldn't. 

Class ended and they went to lunch, and still Theodore didn't admit what was wrong, so the walk to the cafeteria was quiet. They pushed through the doors and into the loud expanse of the cafeteria. Michael turned to Theodore.

"I have to talk to someone for a second," he said, "but I'll join you at the usual spot."

Theodore nodded and watched him locate Alex and his friends, eyes turning dark.

Michael walked up behind Alex and asked, "Is this seat taken?"

Alex turned at the voice and smiled. "It's all yours."

Michael sat down and made small talk with him for a minute or two. He’d forgotten how formal Alex dressed outside of track, finding all the skin below his neck covered up. He’d done a good job covering the bruise on his face, too. Michael got up to leave, then pretended he forgot to ask him something. "Can I talk to you about it over there?"

If Alex was wary, he hid it well. "Of course," he said, and followed Michael to the far edge of the cafeteria, away from listening ears. They faced each other, Michael turning around to find Alex closer to him than expected.

"How are you doing?" Michael asked.

"Fine," he replied, like he didn't know what Michael was talking about.

Michael studied his face for the real answer. Alex gave him nothing. "You know you don't have to keep it a secret, right?" Michael asked.

Alex crossed his arms. "How do you know that?"

"Know what?"

"That I'm better off telling the truth?"

Michael could only see that as the best option. "What could happen?" he asked quietly.

"Anything," Alex said. "Who says my father goes to jail? That my mother and I are safe?" He put a finger on Michael's chest. "Don't you dare say anything."

Michael stepped back and stared at him. "Alright," he murmured, "I just wanted to help."

Alex stopped him when he turned to go, his expression finally honest. "I know," he said, "Thank you."

Michael gave him a nod and Alex let go of him. Michael could see Theodore's eyes glued to him as he approached the table, Brad and Sara engaged in a friendly argument, Sofia and Katie playing with a folded fortune teller, and Sheba visiting friends a few tables over. Michael didn't sit down before Theodore was up and striding towards the bathroom. Michael furrowed his brows and followed him.

The bathroom was dim, one of the lights burnt out above. Michael observed it for a moment before Theodore yanked him into a stall, sliding the lock behind him. "Are we clear?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Did anyone walk in behind you?" he reiterated.

"No," Michael replied.

"Good," Theodore said, and grabbed the sides of Michael's face, kissing him hard. Michael pulled back.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Kissing you," Theodore said, smile curling in one corner of his mouth before making good on his promise. Michael closed his eyes, forgetting the bathroom, just focused on Theodore's sudden burst of passion. Michael put one arm around his side, the other reaching to tangle in Theodore's hair. Theodore’s tongue was busy in his mouth, and Michael almost grinned, triumphant with the act of making out—he’d finally made it that far with someone. It felt _good._ Wet and warm and cozy with Theodore's arms around him, holding him close. Theodore broke the connection and mouthed at his neck, pressing kisses along the curve of his shoulder before pushing Michael down to his knees. Michael looked up at him, the color in his cheeks gone. He attempted to stand, could if he wanted to, but Theodore's hands on his shoulders were firm, encouraging him to stay put.

"Theodore —" Michael started.

Theodore cupped his cheek, thumb pressing down on his lips. "Hush, Pretty."

Michael gulped and averted his gaze from Theodore's clothed hardness. "I haven't done that before," he said, so soft it was like a breath.

"I'll teach you, hm? It's not difficult." Theodore stroked the short hair on his head, grown in enough to show the shadow of his hairline. "You're so pretty."

Michael melted under the praise. He could try something new, couldn't he? It wasn't the loveliest of scenery, but... he wanted to make Theodore happy. He met his eyes and gave a nod.

Theodore undid his zipper. Michael's eyes may have widened a little bit, but the poker face was back as Theodore cupped his cheek again, thumb rubbing his jawline. "Relax. That's step one." He smirked and tugged on Michael's chin. "Step two is to open that pretty mouth..."

Michael did, hesitantly.

"Wider, Pretty. Unless you just plan on kissin' it."

Michael hoped the fire spreading across his cheeks wasn't entirely visible in the dim lighting. He did what Theodore said.

"Three," he continued, reaching for Michael's hand, "Put that here." He closed his hand around Theodore's cock and gave it an experimental stroke.

"Mm, now you're catching on! Okay, Pretty. When you're ready." Theodore put his head back against the wall. Without him watching it was a little easier for Michael to put his mouth on him.

It was an odd sensation. Michael wasn't entirely sure he liked it, or that he was doing it right. Theodore put his hand on the back of his neck and guided him through the motions, his breath quickening, little whines escaping his lips now and then. Michael braced himself with a hand on Theodore's hip as the pressure on his neck pushed him too far and he choked. It seemed like a mistake and then Theodore did it again, making Michael smack his leg to say  _hey, stop_ , but he was relentless the third time, holding Michael against him, mouth dripping, unable to breathe. Michael pushed at him in a frenzy to get away, scrambling to the toilet as the gagging noise in his throat produced his significantly-less-tasty-the-second-time breakfast.

Theodore knelt beside him with a hand between his shoulder blades. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Michael couldn't bring himself to answer. What had he done to deserve that?

"I'm sorry, Pretty—I got carried away. I didn't mean to make you sick."

Michael rubbed at his throat. "You choked me."

Theodore laughed slightly. "That's kind of the point." He ran his fingers over Michael's back. "I really am sorry, though. You did great."

"I don't think puking makes a great blowjob."

Theodore made Michael face him and caressed his cheek. "You'll do better next time."

Michael rose to his feet and opened the stall door with a little more force than necessary. "Who said there'd be a next time?" he shot back.

Michael could see Theodore gaping at him in the mirror. He swished his mouth with water from the tap.

"Pretty," Theodore protested.

Michael spat in the sink and turned around, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Theodore still didn't understand. Michael lost his bravado and exited the bathroom, hoping he could find a place to crawl in and hide, because he really couldn't face anyone with what he'd just done.

* * *

Still, life had to go on. Michael went to class, determined not to speak unless he had to. He made it through Chemistry without having to say a word. Spanish was different.

"My parents said you could come over," Fernando said.

Michael blinked out of his thoughts and took in his surroundings, including Fernando, who wore a white t-shirt and blue sweatpants and a look of expectation on his face.

"What?" Michael asked.

Fernando gestured to his notebook. "The project, bro. My parents said you can come over as long as we work on it."

"Oh," Michael said. He furrowed his brows. He couldn't think straight. "I can't," he told him.

"What? Why not?"

Michael was hoping he'd just say,  _It's cool_. "I'm sick," Michael replied.

Fernando looked him over, doubtful. "The project's due next week," he urged.

"I'm sick," Michael repeated. "I'm sure we can make another day work."

Fernando sighed. "Alright, Papi. I hope you feel better. I'm just going stir-crazy at home."

Michael smiled sympathetically, pondered asking a question about Maricruz, and decided he'd rather not think about relationships.

* * *

School ended and Michael jogged to the front office, where he found Christina's black sedan waiting for him. He slowed his pace and got in the passenger seat.

“Is Lincoln working?” he asked.

“How about a ‘how are you, Mom?’” Christina retorted.

Michael cleared his throat and asked pleasantly, "How are you, Mom?"

"I'm good, how are you?"

"I'm okay. Tired. Did you see the summary I wrote?" He'd slipped it under her door after finishing the manuscript.

"I did, thank you."

Michael looked out the window, the clouds from the day before all dissipated. He turned to Christina. "How's the kitten?" he asked.

Christina wrinkled her nose. "She's been sneezing."

"A lot?"

"A few times. Probably just a kitty cold, I wouldn't worry."

Michael fixed his brows, worried nonetheless.

"Do you have a name for her yet?" Christina asked.

Michael smiled. "I'll have to ask Lincoln. But I was thinking Stormy."

Christina chuckled and pulled her car into the garage. "Will you do a load of dishes?" she asked.

"Of course, Mom."

She cupped his cheek. "That's my good boy."

Michael managed a smile, the warmth of her hand on his cheek reminding him of Theodore. He missed Lincoln. They got out of the car as the garage door shut and went inside.

Michael checked on the kitten to find her missing from her box. She must've been old enough to walk, he deduced. He searched the house, alternating between calling, "Here, kitty, kitty!" and listening intently. The downstairs area was clear. Michael went upstairs and checked his room, the bathroom, and the laundry room before coming up empty. Lincoln's door was open a crack.

_Don't come in my room! Ever!_

Michael shuffled in front of the door and said softly, "Kitty, are you in there?"

A little chirrup answered him. Michael pushed open the door and saw the cat curled up on Lincoln's bed. He went inside and petted her lightly, checking her nose for runniness. She seemed alright. Michael brought her food and water dishes upstairs and put them by Lincoln's closet. He made another trip downstairs for the litter box that Christina bought, the receipt on the counter so Lincoln could pay her back. Michael would have to find a way to earn some money so he could help pay for the kitten's needs. He went downstairs and threw his focus into the dishes, rinsing off bits of food before placing them into the dishwasher. The water stopped draining and Michael turned on the garbage disposal, the mashed-up food particles making him nauseous.

Someone put a hand on his back. Michael jumped and Lincoln said, "Hey."

Michael turned around and hugged him with wet hands, Lincoln yet to change out of his black tank top. Lincoln hugged him back.

"Hey, buddy. You miss me?"

Michael nodded, refusing to let go.

Lincoln faced him and asked, "Something wrong?"

Michael could feel his weariness catching up to him, the ache behind his eyes. "Yeah," he said.

Lincoln wiped at a spot of grease on Michael's cheek and Michael pulled his hand away, wondering if he should tell him or not. Lincoln squeezed his hand. "What's up, Mikey?"

Michael glanced at Christina in the family room and asked, "Can I tell you upstairs?"

Lincoln looked him over as he said, "Sure."

They went upstairs. "My room or yours?" Lincoln asked.

"The cat's on your bed," Michael said.

"Well, let's go say hi." Lincoln opened the door and changed his shirt. Michael sat on the bed and petted the gray kitten, planning the words inside his head. Lincoln sat beside him and crossed his legs.

"I hope you won't think I'm gross," Michael muttered.

Lincoln raised one eyebrow. "Why would I think that?"

Michael told him what happened as quickly and clearly as he could. Lincoln's expression was very serious.

"You think I'm gross," Michael stated.

Lincoln took a breath. "No, Mikey. I think that's unlike you. I mean, wouldn't you have rather been in private? You could've been kneeling in piss."

Michael made a face.

"Besides that," Lincoln said, reaching for Michael's arm, "It seems like you didn't really want to suck him off."

Michael watched the kitten leap off the bed and lap at her water dish.

"Did you want to?" Lincoln asked.

"I don't know. I wanted to make him feel better. He looked like he'd been crying."

"I see."

Michael looked at Lincoln questioningly.

"He manipulated you. You know you don't owe him anything?"

"He's my boyfriend."

"Mikey," Lincoln said, "He doesn't get to use you. You hear me?"

Michael nodded, his throat feeling tight. "I—"

Lincoln scooted closer and put an arm around his side. Michael leaned into him.

"The worst part is, I think he did it on purpose. He saw me talking to Alex, and—" Michael's voice caught in his throat. Lincoln rubbed his arm.

"It's alright, Mikey. I got you."

"He was jealous and he hurt me because of it!"

"Break up with him," Lincoln said simply. 

Michael pushed out of Lincoln's embrace to face him. "But what if I'm wrong? He said he was sorry. Maybe I'm just—overreacting—"

Lincoln wiped a tear off Michael's cheek with his knuckle. "No boyfriend is worth your tears, Mikey."

Michael breathed in shakily and hugged Lincoln. Lincoln held him tight.

"Listen, buddy," he said by his ear, "You don't have to do that again. For anyone."

"Okay."

"You're allowed to stand up for yourself."

"Yeah."

"You  _should_  stand up for yourself."

"Okay."

"He asks you to do something you don't wanna do, you tell him no."

"But—"

"That's it, Mikey. Tell him no."

Michael sighed and Lincoln gripped his shoulders.

"Let's practice, okay? Stand there."

"What?"

Lincoln pushed Michael off the bed and he stumbled before catching his balance. Lincoln stood before him, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

"Gimme your lunch money," he grumbled.

Michael's lips pulled up at one corner. 

Lincoln gave him a light shove. "I said, gimme your lunch money!"

"No," Michael said.

Lincoln shoved him harder and Michael caught himself on Lincoln's nightstand. The kitten scrambled out of the room. Lincoln strode toward him and Michael darted out of the way. "I said I want your money," he growled.

Michael squared his shoulders. "No."

Lincoln grabbed him by the shirt collar, bringing them nose to nose. "What did you say?"

"I said no!"

Lincoln threw Michael away, his body thudding against the wall. "Empty those pockets," Lincoln demanded.

Michael got up again, surprised by Lincoln's strength. Of course, he was the same man who could carry him around the neighborhood for a few blocks without getting tired. "Or?" Michael challenged.

"Or I'll take them from you," Lincoln replied, and moved to grab Michael. Michael was stuck comprehending the words before he could tell his body to move. Lincoln had him in a vise.

"What are you gonna do now?" he asked him. Michael struggled in his arms. "Still gonna tell me no?"

"Yes!" Michael said, and shoved at Lincoln's shoulders and chest. "Let go of me!"

"Hit me," Lincoln said.

Michael paused. "No," he murmured.

Lincoln grimaced and pushed Michael to the floor. "If you don't, you'll be the one getting hit."

Michael rubbed his elbow. "Lincoln..."

Lincoln picked him up and threw him on the bed, arms and legs thoroughly pinning Michael's. Michael's breath came hard, his eyes wide. Lincoln looked half-crazed.

"Tell me, Michael. Tell me no."

Michael pinched his eyes shut. "No."

Lincoln shifted his weight off Michael. Michael met his gaze, glad when he found care in Lincoln's eyes.

"If you have a good boyfriend, he'll listen to you," Lincoln said softly. "If not, you have to fight back."

Michael sat up and clamped a hand to his chest. His heart was beating so fast.

"Did you hear me, Michael?"

Michael nodded.

Lincoln sat up too. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"What's going on in here?"

Christina stood in the doorway, arms crossed. She glanced between the two of them. "Well?"

Michael fidgeted with Lincoln's worn brown blanket. He was not going to tell the bathroom story again, especially to Christina. "Lincoln was teaching me self-defense," he said.

Christina's expert gaze took in the dark grease on Lincoln's hands, the same now on Michael's face and shirt and arms. "Come here," she told him.

Michael slipped off the bed and stood before Christina. She held out her hand. His brows furrowed just slightly.

"Your shirt," Christina huffed.

Michael figured she meant to wash it. She hated dirt. He took it off and she examined him front to back. His skin was red in a few places from Lincoln's lesson.

"Go take a shower," she decided. Michael glanced back at Lincoln and Christina gave him a push. Michael walked out of the room slowly as Christina called, "Lincoln."

Lincoln stood and went to her, winking at Michael through the open door. Christina noticed him still standing there and told him, " _Go_."

The door shut in his face and Michael strode to the bathroom, waited, and tiptoed back, not foolish enough to press his ear to the door, but listening nonetheless.

"What were you doing?" Christina asked.

"Teaching Michael —"

"I know what Michael said. You tell me what you were doing."

"Mom, you couldn't possibly think I'd hurt Michael."

"I heard you ask him yourself." She mimicked his voice. "Did I hurt you?"

"Yeah, well, he needs to know men aren't going to go easy on him."

"Men?" Christina questioned.

"Yeah. Bullies. Criminals. They'll take advantage of his kindness."

"It sounds like they already have," Christina said.

"Maybe they have," Lincoln replied lowly.

There was a long pause. "I see. Listen to me, Lincoln. Don't touch Michael."

Lincoln scoffed. Michael slipped away and jumped in the shower. He scrubbed himself clean and washed his face. He couldn't deny Lincoln had scared him a little. But he knew Lincoln would always use his strength to protect him, no matter what. He wrapped a towel around his hips and brushed his teeth, his reflection ambiguous in the foggy mirror. He found Lincoln waiting outside the door.

"Hey," Michael said.

Lincoln looked mournful. "You're okay, right?" he asked.

Michael wore a soft expression. He held a hand to Lincoln's shoulder. "You worry too much."

"You sure?"

Michael held out his arms and spun around. Facing him again, he said, "No broken bones. No bruises. I'm fine."

Lincoln smiled slightly. "You can always ask me for help."

Michael replied, "I will," and went to his room as he asked, "Speaking of help, did you talk to John Abruzzi?"

Lincoln followed him and said, "I did. Punk said he didn't know who you were."

Michael picked out clothes from his dresser, a scowl on his face. "He does too know who I am."

Lincoln smiled by the door and asked, "Is that confidence I hear?"

Michael laughed and closed the door so he could change.

* * *

That night, Michael contemplated what he would say to Theodore next time they met. Could he really break up with him? Did he want to?

He changed his mind when he saw Theodore in class the next day. Eyes red once again, and dark underneath. Michael didn't bother with the usual questions.

“Can I talk to you after class?” he asked.

Theodore looked at him wearily. “’Course, Pretty.” Even the words were half-there.

The bell rang and Michael gathered his things and his courage. They stood in the hallway long after it had cleared.

"You broke your promise," Michael said.

Theodore leaned against the wall, face guarded. "Did I?"

"Don't act like that. Just be honest with me. Did you do it on purpose?"

Theodore raked his teeth over his bottom lip, picking at a piece of skin there. "Do what?"

Michael raised his voice. "You know!"

Theodore flinched and looked at the dull flat carpeting of the hallway. "Yes," he uttered.

Michael felt the word like a dagger in the heart. "Why?"

"Wanted to show you you're mine."

Michael's eyes flicked over him, his boyfriend's jealousy confirmed.

"I don't have a lot of things that are mine," Theodore muttered.

"I'm not a thing," Michael replied.

"Of course not."

Michael didn't know what to think. Theodore stuffed his hands in his jeans, holes worn in the knees of each leg. "You don't gotta drag this out, you know. Take your freedom and go."

Michael thought of their truth or dare, and the nurse, and the pizza date gone wrong. All the things Theodore wasn't saying.

"Do you care about me?" Michael asked.

Theodore's expression looked almost suspicious. "I do," he answered.

"Then show it," Michael said, and walked away. Theodore could follow if he wanted.

He did.

* * *

At lunch, Theodore pulled out Michael's chair for him. Michael smiled, surprised by the little gesture. 

"What do you want for lunch?" Theodore asked, still standing.

Michael moved to get up and Theodore put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll get it for you."

"Alright," Michael conceded, feeling the eyes of everyone at the table on him. "Grilled cheese if they have it."

Theodore nodded and went to get in the lunch line.

"Damn, Scofield," Brad said, "How'd you make T-Bag your bitch?"

Michael didn't let his indignation show. "He's not my bitch," he replied, "and does everyone call him that? T-Bag?"

The girls shrugged, but Brad and Sara both agreed.

"It's part of his reputation," Brad explained.

"For?" Michael asked.

"Treating pretty boys like shit. Luckily, he's never tried anything with me. I'd beat his ass if he did—"

"Maybe you're not his definition of pretty," Sara cut in, a smile breaking her composure as Brad scoffed.

"Whatever. Watch your back, Scofield. Or better yet, watch your ass—"

Theodore came back, tray in hand, glaring at Brad as if he'd overheard the conversation. "What were you saying?" he asked.

"Just a little warning for your pocket boy," Brad replied, disquiet settling over the table. Theodore leaned over him.

"Yeah? And what was that?"

Brad shrugged. "That you like 'em bent over and helpless."

Theodore smashed Michael's lunch into Brad's face, splattering Sara with applesauce and Brad with the rest—grilled cheese, tomato soup, and iced tea. The neighboring tables erupted into laughter and ooooh's.

Brad wiped his face as Theodore's chest rose and fell rapidly. Michael reached for his hand. Brad stood up with his tray and returned the favor before Theodore could duck out of the way, covering both the boys with spaghetti.

"Food fight!" someone let out like a battle cry.

Michael couldn't believe his eyes as his classmates mimicked their actions. Food flew in all different directions. Sara had long gone to clean up in the bathroom, and her friends followed in retreat, not eager to get stained with everything on the lunch menu. Theodore and Brad exchanged punches until Michael got between them and held Brad back, too slick with spaghetti sauce for Brad to get a good grip on him. Theodore obviously wanted to continue fighting.

"Go!" Michael yelled to him.

Theodore hesitated as Brad knocked Michael to the floor, the tile a mess of slippery, squishy foods. Theodore grabbed him and pulled him up, his feet scrambling for purchase as Brad made to take another swing. He lost his balance and Theodore used the opportunity to lead Michael to the bathroom, where surprisingly no boys had taken refuge yet.

Inside, Theodore grabbed paper towels and wiped Michael off the best he could. Michael smiled.

"Sorry about that," Theodore said, wiping at Michael's back. Food fell off him and plopped on the floor. 

"No, I'm glad you did it," Michael replied. Theodore faced him.

"Really?"

Michael nodded. "Thank you, Teddy."

Theodore smiled and picked a noodle off Michael's shoulder. He wet a paper towel and cleaned the sauce and condiments off Michael's face.

"Not all the stories about me are true," Theodore told him.

Michael cupped Theodore's face, brown eyes meeting blue. "What's going on with you?" he asked. Gently, he rubbed under Theodore's left eye. "You look exhausted."

Theodore chewed his lip, debating an answer, so Michael took a paper towel and cleaned him up, starting with the blood dripping from his nose.

"I can't tell you," Theodore decided.

"Why not?" Michael whispered.

"Because, I can't, Pretty."

"Shouldn't we be honest with each other?"

Theodore sighed and leaned into Michael despite the sogginess of their clothes. Michael hugged him.

"I just can't," he replied. "Isn't there somethin' you wouldn't dream of telling me?"

Michael buried his lips in Theodore's hair, digging for an answer. That he'd witnessed his brother having sex? That he feared his mother? His late father too? That life might be better if it was just him and Lincoln?

Michael ruffled Theodore's hair between his fingers and gave him a soft, "Yes."

Theodore looked at him with teary eyes, the blood from his nose pooling into another drop. Michael caressed his face. "You can tell me if you change your mind," he said.

Someone tried to come in the bathroom and Theodore kicked the door shut, making Michael laugh.

"I will," Theodore replied. "Same for you."

Michael nodded as the door opened again. Fernando came in drenched from head to toe in slop.

"Thought that was you laughing, Papi," he said.

Michael laughed again. "You're a mess!"

"A hot mess," Fernando said, a twinkle in his eyes. He looked at Theodore. "Have we met?"

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," he said slowly.

Fernando extended his hand, flinging some ketchup at him by accident. "Fernando Sucre," he said.

Theodore's lip twitched at the sticky-looking hand. Michael nudged him. He took Fernando's hand and replied, "Theodore Bagwell."

They shook and Fernando starting picking food off himself and dropping it in the sink.

"You're popular," Theodore muttered to Michael.

"And you're famous," he teased. They left the bathroom and waited in the courtyard as the food fight raged on.

* * *

Extracurricular activities were canceled over the announcements as punishment for the food fight. Michael wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed he wouldn't be seeing Alex after school. He called Lincoln to let him know. Lincoln came to pick him up, squinting at all the weird stains on him when he got in the truck. "What happened?" Lincoln asked.

Michael shut the door behind him and replied in his cool voice, "Food fight. It was wild."

Lincoln raised his brows and gave a laugh. "Who started it?" he asked, expecting Michael to have no idea.

"Theodore," Michael answered, "but Brad had it coming."

"Brad's the one who wrecked your sketchbook?"

"Yeah. It was kind of awesome."

"So did you and Theodore...?"

"Break up? No. I decided to give him another chance."

"Be careful, Mikey."

"Oh, I will. We're not doing anything unless I want it and he wants to give it."

Lincoln's mouth gaped for a second and then he said, "Well, okay, Michael."

Michael's face colored as he heard the words through Lincoln's ears. "That's not what I meant."

"No, you were perfectly clear," Lincoln teased, smirking at him, "You're in charge."

Michael covered his face. "Lincoln, really, I just meant we'd both agree—"

"That you're in charge?"

Michael scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed. "Yeah."

Lincoln laughed and patted Michael's shoulder with his free hand. "By the way, Veronica wants more of my favorite cookies."

Michael gave a laugh. "So make her some."

"She thinks I can't cook for squat, which isn't true."

"I like your cooking."

"Thanks. Anyway, if you make them for her, she said she'd make you pancakes again."

Michael's mouth watered at the thought. "When does that offer go into effect?"

They were almost home. "What, are you hungry?" Lincoln asked.

"I didn't end up eating in all the madness."

"Alright. I'll take you home, you'll change, make the cookies, and then we'll visit Veronica."

Michael smiled. "Deal."

That's exactly what they did. Michael boxed up the cookies as Lincoln got ready to see his girlfriend, a sleek routine that included a shower, fresh clothes, cologne, and mint gum. Michael smiled when he finally came downstairs.

"You look nice," he said.

"Thanks, Mikey. Ready?"

"Yeah." He picked up the tub of cookies and joined Lincoln by the front door as he grabbed his keys and checked his pocket for a wallet. Lincoln drove them to Veronica’s and knocked on the door. She didn’t answer right away.

“Is she home?” Michael asked.

“Her car is here,” Lincoln replied with a nod to the silver compact car in the driveway. He rang the doorbell and waited. Veronica opened the door a moment later, dressed in a suit jacket and pencil skirt. "Lincoln," she said, "I wasn't expecting you."

"Surprise," Lincoln said weakly. He put his arm around Michael. "We brought cookies."

Veronica smiled and invited them in, but only for a moment. "I wish you'd called," she said, buzzing around the kitchen, placing the cookies on the counter while simultaneously putting her hair in a bun, "I have an interview."

"Did you quit?" Lincoln asked. The department store in the mall wasn't always the most fun place to work.

"No," she said, and tucked in the last bobby pin. "It's for a university."

Lincoln offered her a cookie but she declined, so he munched on it while he mulled over the information. "Thought you still had two semesters of community left," he said.

Veronica paused her pacing and crossed her arms tight over her chest. "Actually..." She glanced at Michael.

"What?" Lincoln asked.

"Maybe we can talk about this later?"

"Will you finish that sentence first?" Lincoln retorted.

Veronica sighed and fiddled with her purse strap, whether she should use the over-the-shoulder style or the two handles, her back turned to him. Lincoln left Michael at the counter and turned Veronica so she was facing him. "What's up, sweetheart?" he asked, trying not to sound impatient.

"I only have one semester left," she said.

"Okay," Lincoln said, uncomprehendingly.

"I'm looking at universities out-of-state," she said next.

Lincoln let go of her arms, which he'd taken to rubbing gently. "Oh," he murmured.

Veronica caressed his cheek. "We'll talk more later," she told him, and gave him a quick peck. "Thanks for the cookies, Michael."

Michael mustered a smile. "You're welcome."

"I hate to kick you out, but I have to go," she said, and Lincoln followed her to the door silently. He and Michael got back in his truck as Veronica locked up the house and went to her interview.

"She's going to break up with me," Lincoln said, hands clutching the wheel. They hadn't started driving yet.

"You don't know that," Michael replied, reaching out to take his hand. Lincoln let him, his grip no less tense. Michael could see him fighting to keep a stone-cold face. Suddenly he smiled.

"Well, Michael, I'm all dressed up, so you'll have to be my date tonight."

Michael laughed. "What?"

"Why waste this look? Let's get a drink."

"You're not old enough for a  _drink_ , Linc."

"Milkshakes, then?"

Michael squeezed his hand. "Fine by me."

They backed out of Veronica's driveway and waded through afternoon traffic until they came upon a fast food joint.

"You wanna eat here or at our favorite spot?" Lincoln asked. 

Michael could wait a little longer to eat if it meant stargazing. "Favorite spot," he said.

They picked up burgers, fries, and milkshakes in the drive-thru, then started the journey out of the city. Lincoln parked at the top of the hill and the two divided their food between them in the truck bed. Lincoln snagged a few fries from Michael’s stash.

“Hey,” he protested.

Lincoln stuffed the fries in his mouth belligerently. Michael smiled despite himself and sipped his strawberry milkshake. “Mmm…”

“Good?” Lincoln asked.

“Yeah. Wanna try?” He tipped the straw towards Lincoln. Lincoln took a sip and smiled.

“It’s good,” he said, “but not as good as mine.” He offered a taste of his chocolate malt. Michael made a point of taking more than a sip.

“Hey,” Lincoln whined, pulling the drink away from him. Michael grinned and wiped his mouth, a chocolately drop lost to his shirt.

They finished their dinner as the sun began to set, lighting up the sky with stripes of orange, pink, and red. Michael thought about filling in one of his sketchbook pages with just those colors, as hard as he could press the colored pencil on the paper to get the right intensity. Lincoln scrubbed at his face with a crinkled napkin and laid back on his elbow, the slanted light casting shadows on his forlorn face.

“It’s going to be okay,” Michael offered.

Lincoln closed his eyes for a moment. “I…”

“Yeah?”

Lincoln gazed at his feet, torn shoelaces and grease-stained tennis shoes staring back. “I’m not good enough for her.”

“That’s not true,” Michael replied, a spike of anger in his chest.

“I’m not smart enough.”

“Bull,” Michael said.

“I’ve only got a high school education,” he continued, not looking at Michael.

“Who cares about that?” Michael countered, “I don’t.”

Lincoln glanced at him, expression mellowing somewhat. Michael gave his shoulder a push.

“You are smart,” he insisted. “And loving and kind and tough. She doesn’t know what she has.”

Lincoln wore a soft smile and held out his arm to hug Michael. Michael wrapped his arms around him and laid his head on his chest.

“I’m lucky to have you as my brother,” Michael said.

Lincoln’s grin widened. “You’ve got it backwards,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m lucky to have you,” he replied.

Michael smiled and gave him a squeeze as the sky turned dark. His fingers tapped Lincoln’s collarbone. “Did you find an apartment?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Lincoln said softly. “I’m looking for something close by, so you can keep going to Fox River.”

“And you can keep your job,” Michael said.

“Yeah.” Lincoln took a deep breath, thoughts twisting and turning behind his eyes. Michael sat up and looked at him. “Hey.”

Lincoln’s brows drew together. “What?”

Michael debated over what encouragement to give him. “I love you,” he said.

Lincoln gave a light laugh, worries fleeing from him. “I love you.”

Michael stared at him a second before lying by his side and looking up at the stars. Lincoln did the same, watching as Michael’s eyes moved from constellation to constellation.

“Do you know their names?” Lincoln asked.

“Mhm,” Michael said, and pointed to the right. “Ursa Major. See the Big Dipper?”

Lincoln squinted before his eyes settled on the familiar shape. “Yes.”

“Can you see the legs of the bear?” Michael asked.

“Bear? I don’t see a bear.”

Michael traced the shape for him as he spoke. “Picture the Dipper’s handle like a tail. Now the legs and the face. See it?”

“Eh, kind of,” Lincoln replied.

Michael laughed and pointed slightly to the left. “There’s the Little Dipper.”

“Is that a bear too?

“Yup.”

“Brothers?” Lincoln asked.

“Mother and son,” Michael answered. He pointed further to the left. “You would like this one,” he said, and outlined a cross shape.

“What’s that one?”

“Cygnus,” Michael declared, “The Swan.”

“Ahh, I see it,” Lincoln said, and traced the body and the wings of the bird himself.

Michael clapped for him and Lincoln sat up swiftly, taking revenge by tickling Michael’s stomach, immediately turning Michael into a punching-kicking-squirming mess. “ _Lincoln!”_

Michael smacked Lincoln’s face as his fingers traveled from his ribs to his armpits. Lincoln wasn’t fazed.

“Linc!”

Lincoln smirked devilishly, fingertips slipping under Michael’s jaw even as he tried to protect his neck. Michael gripped his wrists, too weak from laughter to push him off, legs flailing. “Linc! I can’t—breathe! Hahaha! Stop!”

Lincoln was about to lay off when Michael’s knee connected with his crotch. He toppled over, hands holding the sensitive area. Michael’s eyes went wide.

“Linc, are you okay?”

Lincoln’s face twisted worse as he puttered out, “Fine…”

Michael tried not to laugh, he really did. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t on purpose,” he said.

Lincoln let his arms fall to his sides, playing dead. Michael shoved him.

“C’mon, Linc,” he fake-pleaded, “Don’t leave me like this.”

Lincoln raised his arms and sat up like a zombie, laughing at his own joke between groans, saying, “Braaaains… I want Michael’s braaaains…”

Michael realized the zombie-arms intended to tickle him again, and leapt out of the truck bed, running down the hill as Lincoln chased him. Lincoln caught him a few feet from the bottom of the hill and they went rolling down it together. They came to a stop with Lincoln’s heavy body on Michael’s.

“Ow,” he said pointedly.

Lincoln propped himself up. “You think _that_ hurt?” he teased.

Michael laughed and pushed Lincoln away. “Drama queen.”

“Know-it-all," Lincoln retaliated.

“Delinquent.”

“Goody-two-shoes.”

“Brute.”

“Crybaby.”

Michael’s lips parted and Lincoln hauled him into his arms.

“Hey!” Michael called as Lincoln carried him up the grassy hill. “I’m not a crybaby," he said firmly.

Lincoln grinned at getting the last good jab. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“I’m not injured, either,” Michael said.

“Well,” Lincoln replied, “Babies need to be carried, don’t they?”

“Lincoln, please,” Michael complained.

Lincoln set him down at the top of the hill. Michael brushed blades of grass off his clothes. “Ready to go home?” Lincoln asked.

Michael smirked and crossed his arms. “If only to get away from a monster like you,” he said.

Lincoln clasped a hand over his heart. “Ouch.”

Michael laughed and got in the passenger seat, Lincoln manning the driver’s side a second later. They drove home as Michael watched the city lights fly by.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, new chapter! Hope you enjoy! Leave a comment if you do! <3

Lincoln’s truck rumbled to a halt in the driveway and the two brothers headed for the front door, bellies full of food and laughter. Michael jumped when they opened the door and saw Christina’s silhouette not two feet in front of them. She flicked on the light switch.

“Boys,” she said.

Michael swallowed and leaned minutely closer to Lincoln. Christina was dressed for bed, her makeup removed.

“You’re to be home before dark, especially on a school night,” she said.

Michael didn’t detect any malice in the words. Though, she didn't seem particularly worried about them.

“Maybe I haven’t been clear enough on your curfews since summer ended,” Christina continued, “but now you know. Michael.” She curled a finger towards herself. Michael stepped forward. She held out her hand, just like she had the day before.

Michael took off his shirt reluctantly. Christina turned it right side out and pointed to a green stain on the sleeve.

“Do you know how hard it is to get grass stains out?” she asked.

Michael shook his head. “I can take care of it, Mom.”

“And Lincoln,” Christina said, “What have I said about roughhousing?”

Lincoln rolled his eyes. He spun around with the force of Christina's hand on his cheek.

“ _Don’t_ roll your eyes at me,” she snapped. Lincoln righted himself and grimaced, face contorting into something truly dangerous.

“Give me those jeans, Michael,” Christina ordered, holding out her arm. Michael furrowed his brows. “ _Now.”_

Michael averted his gaze and slipped out of the jeans. Christina snatched them from his hand and examined them.

“Absolutely filthy,” she said. She looked at him, his eyes glued to the floor. “Goodness, you’re skinny.”

Lincoln put his arm around Michael, hand curling around his hip. “That’s enough,” he barked.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Christina countered. “A gust of wind could knock him over.”

Lincoln turned to Michael and led him away from their mother. “Don’t listen to her, Mikey. You look perfectly healthy.”

Michael shifted out of Lincoln’s grip before they went into the darkness that was the upstairs. “I don’t need you to comfort me.”

Lincoln looked over his shoulder at Christina, trace of a smile on her face as she went to her bedroom. He nudged Michael up the stairs. “Just ignore her,” he said, “She’s a crazy bitch.”

“She’s right,” Michael responded, “I am skinny.” They reached the top of the stairs and Lincoln made Michael face him, his hands on Michael’s shoulders.

“Mikey,” he said slowly, “She’s poking at your insecurities on purpose.”

“Or she’s _right_ ,” Michael argued, and went to his room, flinging the covers off his bed, and his bunny across the room. Lincoln picked it up and smoothed his hand over it.

“You look just like I did when I was sixteen,” Lincoln said.

“No, I don’t. You’ve always been big.”

Lincoln laughed and sat on the edge of Michael’s bed with him, the stuffed bunny in his lap. “Well, maybe that’s what you thought when you were twelve.” He paused a moment. “Look, you know, your friend Theodore is shorter and skinnier than you.”

“So?”

“So, you still think he’s attractive, don’t you?”

Michael sighed. “Yeah.”

“Then there’s no reason to get hung up on what you look like,” he concluded.

Michael turned to him and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks.”

Lincoln grinned. “Anytime.” He handed him the bunny. Michael smiled and set it next to his pillow. He turned back to Lincoln and observed the harsh red fading from his cheek. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Me? Fine. You?" Lincoln replied.

Michael sighed. "I wish she hadn't ruined the evening," he said.

Lincoln clapped a hand to Michael's shoulder. "Hey, she didn't ruin it. I had fun."

Michael smiled at him. "Me, too."

"But...?" Lincoln prompted, sensing he had more to say.

Michael fidgeted with the hem of his boxers. "She makes me feel like I'm not good enough," he spilled. "I'm always wrong. I can't do anything right. I'm not..."  _pretty,_ he almost said.

Lincoln pressed a quick kiss to Michael's temple. "I know how you feel," he said, "but trust me, none of that is true."

"You're sure?" Michael checked.

"Have I ever been wrong?" Lincoln joked.

Michael laughed. Lincoln stood and went to the door. "Goodnight, Linc," Michael called.

"Goodnight," he said, closing the door behind him.

Michael got under the covers and listened to Lincoln's footfalls as he went downstairs. Michael braced himself, body tensing as Lincoln and Christina fought. Their voices rose and rose in a shouting match that ran itself in circles. A door slammed, signaling Christina’s refusal to continue. Lincoln climbed the stairs a few moments later. Michael relaxed again as the shower ran, his thoughts drifting away with the water down the drain.

* * *

In English the next morning, Mrs. Morgan called Michael up to her desk. She handed him the essay he’d written the previous week. The letter ‘A’ was circled in red on the page and Michael sighed in relief.

“Michael,” Mrs. Morgan said, “Great job on this one. Though I have some questions for you.”

Michael urged away the sting of anxiety he felt. His eyes fell on the string of turquoise she wore around her pale neck. “Yes?”

Mrs. Morgan lowered her voice to a soothing register. “Is there anything you want to talk about? Something that’s bothering you?”

Michael shook his head. “No.”

“Are you sure, sweetheart? The imagery in this—as fantastic as it is—it’s very gruesome.” She waited for him to explain before saying anything else.

Michael blinked away thoughts of his father in a crumpled car, smoke billowing, blood everywhere.

"I just made it up," Michael lied. 

"Alright. If you need someone, I'm here," she said.

Michael nodded and went back to his seat. The girl to his right piped up and said, "I thought what you wrote was cool."

Michael narrowed his eyes and took in her black hair, black lipstick, and black skinny jeans enveloping curvy legs. "You read it?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said.

"How?" Michael asked. They didn't share it in class. It was a test, in fact.

The girl showed him the paper she was writing on. Her name was scribbled in the top right corner: _Gretchen_ _Morgan_.

Michael's eyes lit up in understanding as he glanced at his teacher. "You're her—"

"Sh. Yeah. I tried to convince her you’re a Poe-wannabe, not another depressed student.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Michael replied, not knowing what else to say.

Gretchen tilted her head. “She worries, you know. She thinks writing is the window to the soul, and all that.”

“And what do you think?” Michael asked.

Gretchen’s lips quirked up in one corner. “I must have a bad soul to match my writing,” she said.

Michael smiled slightly. Mrs. Morgan called Gretchen up to her desk and pulled her essay from a stack of papers. Gretchen rolled her eyes at her grade.

“B?” Michael mouthed.

Gretchen gave him a thumbs-down.

“C?” he tried again as she went back to her seat. Gretchen winked at him.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I don’t like sappy poetry,” she said, crossing her legs.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Michael replied.

“No?” She read a line from the poem. “My sadness is a deep, dark ocean?”

“Some people feel that way,” Michael told her.

Gretchen’s lips parted before curling into a smirk. “Maybe I was wrong. You _are_ depressed.”

Michael didn’t like the way she said it. Besides, he was happy, for the most part.

“Gretchennn, what’d you get on your test?” one of the other girls asked.

Gretchen moved to cover her letter grade, but the frizzy-haired girl snatched it from her. Her hot pink lips quirked into a smile.

“Another C? Mrs. Morgan must hate you.”

Gretchen wore a cool expression. “On the contrary, I think your mother hates you, if she left you.”

The girl froze.

“Yeah, I read your sob story. You haven’t seen her in two months.”

Michael’s eyes widened as the girl burst into tears. Gretchen sneered as she ran out of the classroom. Mrs. Morgan stood and went after her, giving Gretchen a we'll-talk-later look. The class fell quiet.

“That was harsh,” Michael whispered.

Gretchen shrugged. “Can’t let ‘em mess with you.”

Michael didn’t show his reaction, but something about her reminded him of Lincoln.

* * *

After the first unit test in World History, Theodore and Michael walked to lunch side by side.

"Can we sit alone today, Pretty?" Theodore asked.

Michael smiled at him. "Don't feel like brawling with Brad much?"

Theodore laughed a little and opened the door for him. Michael thanked him and found an unoccupied table on the outskirts of the cafeteria.  They sat down and Michael offered Theodore the extra granola bar he'd packed.

"Oh, no, Pretty, I'm fine," he said.

"You're not hungry?" Michael asked.

Theodore bit his lip and fiddled with his collar.

"Take it," Michael insisted, "I have another one."

Theodore relented and took a bite. "Thanks," he mumbled, mouth full. Michael ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching on the collar of his jean jacket. There was a purple spot on his neck. Theodore stopped chewing, eyes widening as he realized Michael knew.

Michael let go of him, expression a mixture of hurt and shock.

"Pretty," Theodore said, "I can explain."

"You can?" Michael asked, sickeningly hopeful. He knew what a hickey looked like. Different from a regular bruise, or a burn mark. There was no mistaking it.

"Yes," Theodore said slowly, like he was trying to think of something.

Michael turned away and stared at his lunch bag. Theodore gripped his arm and Michael faced him, eyes teary.

"Is it because I gave you a bad blowjob?" Michael asked. "You found someone better?"

"No, Pretty," Theodore urged.

"Someone older? More experienced?" Michael didn't have to say John.

" _No_ ," Theodore said, "I swear it."

"Then how?" Michael snapped.

Theodore's expression twisted into one more suited to pain than regret. Michael's arm ached under Theodore's tight grip. Wet beads formed in the corners of his eyes.

"Theodore?" Michael asked softly.

"Pass," he managed.

"What?"

"The truth. I pass."

Michael nodded, knowing he was missing something, but he'd rather forgive everything than let it crush him again. He held out his arms. Theodore wiped his eyes and leaned into him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. 

Michael rubbed his back, ignoring the stares they were getting. "I believe you," he said.

Theodore sniffled and looked up at him. "You do?"

"I do."

Theodore hugged him again. "I'm gonna make it up to you," he declared.

"Yeah?" Michael didn't expect anything in return. He hadn't done much after all.

“Yeah." He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and faced Michael, blue eyes boring into his red ones. "What’s your address, Pretty? You live in the school neighborhood?”

“Middleton, actually,” Michael said, “But I’ll have to ask my mom if you can come over.”

Theodore mustered a smile. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Michael had to laugh at the irony—if the previous night was any indicator, Michael wouldn’t be allowed to have friends over, maybe ever. It was a grim thought.

“Your address, Pretty?”

Michael blinked out of it and wrote down his address for Theodore. “I’ll let you know after school if she says yes,” he said.

Theodore tucked the slip of paper into his jacket pocket and pressed his palm to it, like he was holding it close to his heart. “Track practice?” he asked.

“Track practice,” Michael said, smiling slightly.

The two finished their lunch and went their separate ways when the bell rang.

* * *

Spanish came around and Michael could instantly tell Fernando was excited about something from the intense way he sat hunched over a piece of paper, writing madly. He only looked up when Michael sat next to him.

“Papi! What’s another word for love?” he asked.

Michael, for some reason or another, was taken aback by the question. “Love?” he repeated.

“Sí, Papi. I’ve already said ‘love’…” He counted. “Five times.”

“Passion,” Michael decided. That summed up Fernando’s behavior pretty well, he thought.

“Passion! That’s dope! How do you spell that? P-a-s-h…?”

Michael shook his head.

“No ‘h’?”

Michael laughed and wrote out the spelling for him, along with all the other synonyms he could think of. _Love, passion, devotion, adoration, affection…_ Fernando finished his letter with a generous mixture of the words and rolled the paper before tying it with a red ribbon.

“I need you to do something for me,” he said, “For me and Maricruz.”

Michael was intrigued, and a little wary. “What?”

Fernando leaned in and whispered the news. “Maricruz is going to a party my cousin is throwing tomorrow. I can’t go, you know why. So, I thought, maybe _you_ could take this to her?” He handed over the letter.

“Oh,” Michael said, a million questions racing through his head. “Is this the cousin that likes Maricruz?”

Fernando scoffed. “No, but thanks for the reminder, asshole.”

Michael frowned.

“Sorry, I’m sorry! Please do this for me, Papi. For love.” He made puppy eyes at him and Michael felt his heart melt.

“Okay,” he agreed. “But I’ve never seen Maricruz.”

“Oh, you’ll know when you see her,” Fernando insisted, “Dark brown hair, about this long, the cutest, sweetest face you’ve ever seen, brown skin, petite body…” Fernando looked off into space like he could see her.

“If your cousin is hosting this party…” Michael started.

“Yeah?”

“Won’t there be a lot of girls that look like you? Mexican?”

“Puerto Rican, Papi, and yeah, I guess so.” Fernando pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed Michael a picture of Maricruz, then yanked it back. “Careful! Edges only.”

Michael pinched the edge of the photograph and looked at the smiling girl. “She is beautiful,” he said.

“Just give her the note, nothin’ else,” Fernando warned.

Michael smiled and put the picture in the pocket of one of his folders. “Of course," he said. "But I have another question.”

“Worried you’ll be the only white boy there?” Fernando asked, smirking.

Michael's lips parted. “Well, yeah.”

“Don’t worry. It’s gonna be a big party," Fernando said, gesturing with his arms to show how big. "You can take someone if you want.”

Michael tried to picture himself at a high school house party like the ones he’d seen in movies. “Maybe I will,” he said.

Fernando lit up with a smile and made a fist with his hand. “Nothin’s gonna stop me and Maricruz from being together! Not with your help! Thank you, Papi.”

Michael couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. “You’re welcome, Papi,” he said softly.

Fernando gave him a pat on the back as their teacher greeted them with a slow, enunciated, “¡Hola, clase!”

* * *

Michael hurried down to the football field when school ended, changing his shirt as he went. He saw Alex clap a hand to his mouth before sucking down a big gulp of water. He came to a stop beside him.

"Hey, Alex," he said casually.

Alex wiped his mouth swiftly and capped his water bottle. "Hi, Michael. You're early."

Michael shrugged and Alex smiled. He waved him over to the bleachers and unzipped his backpack. He handed Michael three sketches in page protectors—the first a pair of metal cuffs shackling hands with long fingers, the second a young boy in a cowboy costume, the third—Michael stilled.

"Something wrong?" Alex asked. "I tried not to smudge anything."

"No, you did fine," Michael said. He sat down, staring at the third sketch. He tilted it so the sun didn't reflect off the page protector.

Alex sat down next to him and asked, after a pause, "Who is that?"

"My father," Michael answered. "He died."

Alex put a warm hand on his shoulder. Someone cleared their throat.

Michael looked over his shoulder and found Theodore standing there, teeth showing in a half-snarl. Alex stood and glared at him. There was an awkward span of five heated seconds as Michael put away his artwork, ignoring them.

Then Alex told him, "One minute till we start," and left the bleachers to start stretching his legs. Theodore smiled at Michael like he hadn't just been shooting daggers at Alex.

"Hey, Pretty. What'd your mama say?" he asked.

"She said it was fine," Michael replied, leaving out how he'd offered to do her laundry and that his heart had done three somersaults when she said yes. "I have to get down there," he said next, pointing to where Alex was having the team pep talk. 

Theodore nodded, seemingly humbled. "I'll be here," he said.

Michael headed down the bleachers and joined the other runners.

* * *

By the time they were done running, Michael was drenched in sweat and had downed two water bottles and was working on the third. The locker room was crowded with boys from the football team, so Michael didn’t try to snag a shower and just mopped up the sweat with a towel Alex handed him. He changed his shirt and tugged his jeans over his basketball shorts, planning to change properly at home. Alex seemed to be thinking the same thing as he pinched the front of his shirt and fanned himself with it, calm expression on his face.

“How do you like it here?” Alex asked him. “At Fox River?”

Michael slung his backpack over his shoulder and replied, “It’s been different. As Theodore says, I’m popular.”

Alex laughed and crossed his arms, leaning against the cool metal of the lockers. “He’s not too happy about that, is he?”

Michael took a breath and answered, “No. Though I doubt he has anything to worry about.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked.

“Just—you’re so popular. Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Alex looked away and smiled, trying to rid himself of the amused smirk before turning back to Michael. “No, I don’t.”

Michael stared him down for a moment as butterflies fluttered in his stomach.

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” Alex asked.

Michael sipped his water. “I’m going to a party tomorrow,” he replied.

“Really?”

“Do I not look like the party type?” Michael asked, barely containing his grin.

“Oh, you look it,” Alex said, “You just don’t act like it.”

Michael laughed a little and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to come too?” he asked, remembering Fernando’s words earlier.

Alex ran a hand through his hair and said, “Actually, yeah. Where is it?”

Michael gave him the address and Alex wrote it on his hand in black ink.

“Sweet, I’ll be there,” Alex said, putting the pen back in his bag.

Michael tried to fight the smile pulling at his lips. “See you then,” he said.

Alex waved with his ink-stained hand as Michael left the locker room and retrieved Theodore from the bleachers.

“Congrats, Pretty,” he said, “You didn’t trip this time.”

Michael bumped shoulders with him and directed him to the front office. “Linc is picking us up.”

“Your brother?” he asked.

Michael nodded. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No,” Theodore said.

“Linc is my only one,” Michael said. They walked through the gate and up to the sidewalk. “He must be a little late.” The truck wasn’t waiting for him like it usually was.

“I don’t mind,” Theodore replied, linking his hand with Michael’s. “More time for us to be alone together.”

Michael felt heat rushing to his cheeks and squeezed Theodore’s hand. “I can’t guarantee we’ll have the house to ourselves,” he said. “Most likely not.”

“I can be quiet,” Theodore whispered, grinning wickedly. Michael didn’t have time to respond as Lincoln’s truck rumbled into view. They climbed in, all squished together, and Lincoln drove off again, not saying a word. Michael nudged him.

“Hi, Theodore,” he grumbled.

“Uh, hi,” Theodore replied. The rest of the ride was silent. Michael felt his nerves building.

Lincoln parked in the driveway and unlocked the door for them, leaving it wide open as he went inside.

“That’s a pretty apple tree,” Theodore said, gesturing to the front yard.

“Thanks,” Michael said, “They taste good if you want one.”

Theodore thought about going back to grab one but followed Michael inside instead. Lincoln popped open a soda can before plopping himself on the couch, feet up on the table.

“Linc, don’t you have work?” Michael asked.

“Nope,” he said, “I’ll be right here if you need something.”

Michael’s face flushed as he realized Lincoln didn’t trust Theodore. Lincoln turned the TV on and set it to a low volume. Michael gestured for Theodore to follow him as he went to the kitchen.

“Help yourself to anything,” Michael told him. “I’m going to have a sandwich if you want one.”

“I’d like that, Pretty.”

Michael smiled and made him one as Theodore observed his surroundings.

“You have a nice house,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“I’d like to see the upstairs,” he said next.

Michael grinned, half-embarrassed and half laughing internally. That was so not smooth.

“One sec,” he said, and cut each of their sandwiches in half before handing Theodore his plate. He grabbed two cans of cold tea from the fridge and led the way to his bedroom. He closed the door behind them.

“You got your own little library,” Theodore said, tilting his head toward the bookshelf.

Michael smiled and sat cross-legged on the carpet before taking a bite of his sandwich. Theodore did the same with his back against the wall.

“Mm,” he mumbled, “S’good. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Michael said. “You can take your jacket off if you want.”

Theodore smirked. “You want me to take off my clothes, Pretty?”

Michael resisted the urge to cover his face, pink surely spreading to his ears. Theodore laughed and tore a bite off his sandwich. Michael popped the tab on his tea and drank some. They finished their snacks and Theodore took off his jacket as requested, teasingly slow. Miraculously, Michael was able to coordinate the jumble of nerves that was his body and excused himself to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, his skin shining with sweat.

“Relax,” he told himself, “Relax, relax, relax…”

He took off his sweater, feeling overly warm, and sniffed his undershirt, recoiling slightly. There wasn’t time to take a shower. He took off the undershirt and put his sweater back on and splashed on some of Lincoln’s cologne. He washed his face and remembered his basketball shorts as he patted his face dry. He switched out of those and zipped up his jeans, feeling a little better, but not much. There was a knock on the door. Michael opened it quickly.

“Hey,” Lincoln said.

“Hey,” Michael replied.

“Everything alright?”

“Perfectly,” Michael said. “Do I look okay?”

Lincoln smiled. “Yeah, buddy.”

Michael thanked him and asked, “Could you leave us alone for a while?”

“No,” Lincoln said sharply.

“Linc,” Michael protested.

Lincoln crossed his arms.

“At least go downstairs?” Michael asked.

Lincoln huffed and said, “Fine.” He leaned forward. “But be careful.”

“I know, I know,” Michael said, pushing him down the hall to the staircase, “ _Go_.”

Lincoln shoved him off and went down the stairs, looking back with narrowed eyes and a I'm-watching-you gesture. Michael shut himself in his room and tried to look casual. “Hey, Teddy.”

Theodore wiped the crumbs off his mouth and went to him, eyes twinkling. “I like it when you call me that,” he said.

He came so close that Michael found himself leaning against his bedroom door. “Yeah?” he asked.

Theodore curled an arm around him and pulled him close. “Mhm.”

Michael’s breath caught in his throat and he leaned in to kiss him. Theodore tilted his head and licked into his mouth, breathing deeply. He slipped his hands underneath Michael’s sweater and touched his stomach, making Michael jump.

“Your hands are cold,” he said, laughing at himself.

Theodore grinned. “Sorry, Pretty.” Michael took his hands and squeezed them between his own to get the blood flowing again. Theodore's grin softened.

“I think you’re the sweetest boyfriend I’ve ever had,” Theodore said.

Michael smiled and gave him a bunch of little smooches, gradually drifting to his neck and slowing his pace, tasting him like Theodore had done the other day. He hovered over the hickey marring Theodore’s skin.

“Do me a favor, Pretty,” Theodore breathed, “Make that mark yours.”

Michael faced him. “You sure?”

He nodded. “Hell, give me ten more. I want them.”

Michael searched his eyes and said, “Okay.” His heart pounded in his chest as he leaned into the curve of Theodore’s neck.

“Michael!”

They both jumped and Michael’s heart beat fast for an entirely different reason. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Michael!” Christina called again. She was downstairs somewhere.

“Do you want to meet my mom?” he asked, but there wasn’t really another option.

Theodore sighed. “Sure.”

Michael led the way downstairs and found Christina in the kitchen. She was fresh from work, wearing a white pantsuit and perfectly curled hair. “Hi, Mom,” he said.

“Is this Theodore?” she asked, looking him over.

Theodore offered his hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Scofield.”

“It’s Miss,” she said. “Nice to meet you too. Michael, you left a dirty knife in the sink.”

Michael could see it there. “I made sandwiches,” he explained. He moved to scrub it clean.

“I’ll get it,” Christina said, pushing him back. “Go have fun with your friend.”

Michael wasn’t sure if she was genuine or not.

“Go on,” she said.

Michael mumbled a thanks and went back upstairs with Theodore. He closed the door behind them and locked it for good measure.

“She’s a lovely lady,” Theodore teased.

Michael didn’t comment. He pushed Theodore towards the bed and pulled at the collar of his shirt so he could suck at his neck. Theodore laughed slightly as Michael crawled over him.

“You got mommy issues, Pretty?”

Michael bit him.

“Ouch! Okay, touchy subject.”

Michael threaded his fingers through Theodore’s hair and mouthed at the dark spot until Theodore whimpered. Michael kissed his skin and moved to make another mark, drawing a soft moan from Theodore.

“You said you were quiet, Teddy,” Michael taunted.

Theodore slipped both hands underneath Michael’s sweater and hugged him. “I said I could be quiet, not that I would be,” he corrected.

Michael told him to shush and went back to work right below Theodore’s jawline. Theodore let his hands wander over his back, soon inching under Michael’s waistband. Michael snatched his hand.

“Pretty,” Theodore whined, pitiful expression on his face.

Michael pinned his hand by the pillow and kissed his lips. Theodore grinned and tried again with his other hand. Michael jumped and glared at him. Theodore held up his hands in surrender before flipping them over and smiling down at him.

“Would you just let me—?” Theodore reached for Michael’s zipper and Michael grabbed his wrist.

“No,” he said, “Not with my mom home.”

“What if she leaves?” Theodore asked.

Michael bit his lip.

“Pretty, I said I would make this up to you,” he said, exposing the red and violet marks on his neck, “so just let me touch you. Please.”

Michael didn’t know why he was so nervous, but he was. “Later,” he said.

Theodore furrowed his brows. “You want me to sleep over or somethin’?”

Michael took a shaky breath. “Yes.”

Theodore smiled softly. “Don’t worry your pretty head. I know how to make you feel good.”

Michael felt his face flush and said, “I know. I just…”

Theodore caressed his cheek. “What, Pretty?”

“I forgot to ask if you wanted to go to a party with me,” he said, hoping Theodore didn’t notice the subject change.

“What kinda party?” he asked.

“Big,” Michael said, “Tomorrow at nine.”

Theodore leaned down and kissed him. “Sure, Pretty,” he muttered, then covered his mouth to yawn. Michael glanced at the clock. It was only five p.m. Theodore laid his head on Michael’s chest and snuggled against his side. Michael breathed a sigh of relief and ran his fingers through Theodore’s fluffy hair.

“Pretty?” he called.

Michael stilled. “Yeah?”

“I like you,” he said.

Michael smiled and rested his free hand against Theodore’s ribs. “I like you too.”

Theodore closed his eyes and relaxed.

Michael drifted in and out of sleep for an hour when he heard a soft knock on the door. He glanced at Theodore and saw he was sound asleep. There was another knock.

Michael slipped out from under Theodore and tiptoed to the door. He opened it. “Linc,” he griped.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re asking me what? You’re the one who’s knocking.”

Lincoln rolled his eyes and said, “You might want to play some videogames with him or something. Mom’s getting suspicious.” He peeked into the room. “Is he sleeping?”

Michael nodded. Lincoln snorted.

“Don’t let your mind go there, Linc,” Michael chastised.

“Well?” he asked.

Michael crossed his arms. “He’s just tired. Oh, but will you ask Mom if he can sleep over?”

Lincoln rubbed his temples. “You’re sure?” he asked.

“Just ask,” Michael said, “Please.”

“Fine. But seriously. Videogames. TV. Anything.”

Michael thanked him and shut the door again.

“Pretty?” Theodore called.

Michael went to him. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Theodore smiled. “C’mere.”

Michael laid down on his side and pulled him near. “Did you have good dreams?” he asked.

Theodore nodded and kissed Michael’s neck. “Is it ‘later’ yet?”

Michael chuckled and replied, “Not yet. You want to play Pac-Man?”

Theodore faced him and said, “You’re gonna have to teach me if we do.”

“You don’t know how to play Pac-Man?”

“Nope.”

“It’s easy. Come on. The Atari’s downstairs.” Michael pried him from the bed and straightened his clothes for him. His hair was beyond help, but Michael liked how it looked. Theodore popped the collar of his jean jacket and they went downstairs. Michael set up the game and they played for a while, stopping when Theodore nearly threw the joystick across the room.

“It’s not fair,” he cried, “They cornered me!”

Michael laughed. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure, Pr—”

Michael elbowed him as Christina walked down the hallway with a glass of wine. They sat in silence for a few seconds till she shut herself in her office.

“Does she know?” Theodore asked quietly.

“No,” Michael said. “Does your mom?”

Theodore rubbed a finger across his lips. “No, she, uh, doesn’t really understand that sort of thing.”

“And your dad?” Michael asked.

Theodore looked uncomfortable. “He’s like me, I guess.”

“That’s cool,” Michael said, though by the look on Theodore’s face, maybe it wasn’t.

“Let’s watch that movie,” he said.

Michael stood and showed him where they kept the VHS tapes. “You pick.”

Theodore held a hand to his heart and smiled. He looked through the wicker basket and chose _Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark._

“Nice choice,” Michael commented, and popped the tape into the VCR. They sat on the couch, a little farther apart this time. The opening credits played, and Michael smiled as the familiar silhouette appeared on screen. He glanced at Theodore to find him a little closer than before. Michael put his arm around him. If Christina saw, she saw. Whatever.

But Michael was tense during the movie anyway. Theodore, on the other hand, seemed content to lay his head in Michael’s lap and let out a snore just as Marion kissed away Indiana’s injuries. Michael stifled a laugh and turned down the volume of the TV. He ran his hand through Theodore’s hair, smiling at the way the brown tufts felt between his fingers. Michael folded over the collar of Theodore’s jacket and peered at the purple mark there. The phone rang and startled Theodore awake seconds before Christina came out of her office to answer it.

Michael watched her wide-eyed to see if she’d seen, but Christina just picked up the phone in the kitchen and started talking to the person on the other end. Theodore rubbed his eyes and glanced between the two of them.

“You’re really scared, aren’t you?” he asked.

Michael gave him a slight nod.

“Let’s just go back to your room,” Theodore suggested.

Michael picked at a piece of fuzz on the couch’s armrest. “I don’t want to do anything… special,” he confessed.

Theodore rubbed Michael’s sleeve. “Alright. I’m too damn tired anyway.” They got up and left the family room.

Lincoln caught them on their way upstairs. "Mom said no sleepovers," he informed them.

Michael thought quietly. "Did she say why?"

Lincoln took a second before replying, "No. Sorry, buddy."

Michael glanced at Theodore, about to apologize.

"S'alright, Pretty," he murmured, "My mama's probably missing me anyway."

"You don't have to go right now," Michael urged.

"I said it's alright. Thanks for having me over." He turned to go back downstairs before Michael grabbed his hand and pulled him back, spinning him into a kiss. Theodore made a muffled sound before grinning and kissing him back. They parted and Theodore sent a nervous glance Lincoln's way. Michael smiled sheepishly.

"He knows," Michael said.

"Yeah," Lincoln piped up, like he was omniscient and would know if Theodore fucked up, even if he wasn't there.

"I see," Theodore replied, and smiled slyly at Michael. "See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow," Michael cheered. "You want a ride?"

Theodore gazed at Lincoln warily and said, "I'll just walk."

"Sure?" Michael asked.

"Yeah. Don't worry, Pretty."

Michael cupped a hand to his cheek and said, "Get some rest."

Theodore's cheeks turned pink and Michael walked him to the door. He shut the door behind him and joined Lincoln upstairs, lying on his bed as he flipped through a men's fitness magazine, a Snickers bar open and half-eaten in his free hand. Michael leaned against the doorway.

"You think the guy on the cover eats whole Snickers bars?" Michael teased.

Lincoln flipped to it and declared, “Whatever.”

“His abs are probably fake,” Michael told him.

Lincoln looked over the photo again and hummed. He waved Michael over. Michael settled on his side next to Lincoln and looked at the page he was reading.

"Sex tips," Michael read aloud, raising his brows.

Lincoln took a bite of his candy bar and grumbled in response.

"Any news from Veronica?" Michael asked.

"We're still in relationship limbo," he said. He pulled off a bite of the Snickers bar for Michael to eat.

"Thanks," Michael said, and took it. He chewed as Lincoln explained, "I thought good sex might convince her to stay."

Michael smiled, but Lincoln was serious. He rubbed his forehead with his non-chocolatey fingers. "Mikey, I don't know what to do."

"Well, have you tried any of this?" Michael asked, pointing to the magazine. Lincoln lifted it to his eyes once more and went down the list of twenty tips.

"Not recently," he said, "and by the way, don't ever do this."

Michael read tip number 3. He held in a laugh. "Why not?" he asked.

"Well, I take it back. Don't do it without asking first," Lincoln said. "Maybe some girls like it. Not Veronica."

"Ahh," Michael said. Lincoln ate the last of his chocolate bar, lips pouting. "Did you call her?" Michael asked.

Lincoln counted on his hand. "Four times."

"Today?" Michael asked, a little alarmed.

Lincoln tossed his wrapper over the side of the bed and flipped the page of his magazine, replying, "There were a few hours in between each time. But no answer."

"I'm sorry, Linc," Michael said.

Lincoln mustered a half-smile. "Hey, let's play Hot or Not," he said.

"Really?" Michael asked, "With this?" He gestured to the men's magazine.

"Yeah," Lincoln said. "Maybe you'll find someone you like better than Theodore."

"Hey," Michael argued.

Lincoln shrugged. "He seems to like you."

"Very encouraging, Linc," Michael replied.

"I'm sure I'd know how much he likes you if Mom wasn't around," Lincoln countered.

Michael blushed and tapped the woman posing for a toothpaste ad in the magazine. "Hot or Not?" he asked.

Lincoln looked at the painfully white smile. "Not," he said. He pointed to the hairy bodybuilder on the next page. "Hot or Not?"

"Not," Michael deemed. Lincoln flipped the page, laughing lightly. Michael's eyes went wide at the celebrity interview that greeted him. "Hot or Not?" he demanded.

"Harrison Ford?" Lincoln asked.

"C'mon, Linc."

Lincoln studied the picture as if he really had to think about it. "Hot," he decided.

Michael grinned.

"What?"

"You just called a guy hot," Michael said evenly.

"So?"

"So I always point to women for you, because you always say 'not' for men."

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Am I gonna tell you Harrison Ford isn't hot when you obviously adore him?"

"Obviously," Michael said.

"Yes, obviously. A little like you and Theodore."

"What?"

"I said you're obvious. To me anyway. So be careful around Mom."

Michael grew quiet. He rested his head on Lincoln's pillow and whispered, "What do you think she'd do if she found out?"

Lincoln set down the magazine and turned on his side, gazing down at Michael. "I don't know," he said.

"Think she'd kick me out?" Michael asked. His bottom lip wobbled. Lincoln smoothed a hand across his cheek.

"I found an apartment," he said.

"You did?" Michael asked. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"You were busy," Lincoln replied. He put his hand over Michael's, fingers linked over his chest. "Besides, I wasn't sure we should go through with it."

"Why not?" Michael retorted.

Lincoln's brows jumped for a second and he explained, "You care about Mom. Your things are here. The apartment isn't as nice as this house."

Michael played with Lincoln's fingers, deep in thought. "I see what you mean."

"The point is," Lincoln said, "if worse comes to worse, I'll be with you. We'll get a place for ourselves."

Michael smiled at him. "Okay."

"Boys!" Christina called.

Lincoln grumbled. Michael slid off the bed and Lincoln followed him downstairs. They found Christina by the phone in the kitchen. She tugged on the bottom of her suit jacket to straighten it.

"Boys," she said, "I'm hosting a dinner party with Headlock’s higher-ups tomorrow. I need both of you to clean the house and be on your best behavior."

Michael's heart sank. "You need us to be there?" he asked.

Christina crossed her legs as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "Of course," she answered. "If I'm to get a promotion, I need to impress them. You're my sons. You represent the best of me."

Michael felt a warmth in his chest, and a nagging guilt in his stomach. He promised Fernando he'd give Maricruz the love letter. And he'd invited Alex. And Theodore. Three of his friends were expecting him to be there and now his mom needed him.

"That's bullshit," Lincoln said. Michael's eyes went wide.

Christina blinked a few times. "Excuse me?"

"We're nothing like you," Lincoln replied, putting his hand on Michael's shoulder.

"Linc," Michael murmured.

Christina nodded in thought. "You're right, Lincoln.  _You're_  nothing like me, but Michael is. Every wonder why that is?"

"I don't care," Lincoln said, "You want us to act like your stuck-up mini-me's. It's not gonna happen."

Christina pushed off the counter and came closer. "You will attend the dinner party, and you will behave. Or else Michael will suffer the consequences."

Lincoln's grip on his shoulder went slack. "What?"

"Michael will receive your punishment, simple as that."

Linoln sputtered. "That doesn't make sense! Michael hasn't done anything wrong!"

Christina shrugged and met Michael's hurt gaze. "It's your choice, Lincoln."

Lincoln gritted his teeth and said, "Fine."

"Michael?" she asked.

"Of course, Mom," he said. “I’ll be there.” He turned and went up to his room, standing still as his little gray kitten wove between his legs. Carefully, he stepped away from it and climbed onto his bed, pulling up the blinds on his window. He snapped open the lock and slid the window open, gazing out over the side. The apple tree was beneath him.

Michael made a plan to break out.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for comments and kudos! Enjoy the new chapter!

Michael was going to that party if it was the last thing he'd do.

But if he planned carefully enough, none would be the wiser that he'd even left the house.

Michael picked up the kitten and returned to his bed, petting its short fur as he thought. He grabbed a notebook and pencil and wrote out the steps he'd take. Only the kitten chewing on his eraser deterred him.

When Michael was finished, he read the plan over once, twice, three times—looking for holes in the design. Then he tore the paper to bits over his trash bin and went downstairs. Operation Passion was a-go.

Lincoln was doing the dishes loudly, clanking plates into the dishwasher and splashing mugs together in the soapy water. He was still mad. Michael didn't blame him. He tied the kitchen trash bag together and carried it out to the side of the house. 

The sun was low in the sky, basking everything in a bright orange glow. Michael breathed deeply and cleaned the rest of the house with Lincoln. Christina was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

The soft light of the morning didn't wake Michael. A screaming cat did.

Michael's eyes shot open at the sound of a whining mew in his ear. Once he could focus on the adopted stray beside him, Michael scooped her up and lectured her as she dangled above him.

"Is that how you ask for breakfast, Stormy?" he asked. The cat meowed in protest.

"What do I say about apologies?" Michael joked.

_Meow!_

"Exactly," Michael said, and brought the kitten to his chest. "Don't be naughty in the first place." She started to purr and Michael scratched her chin. "I'm glad you're friendly. I thought Stormy Scofield was just going to be another disappointment..."

Lincoln pushed open Michael's door and then stepped back. "You're up," he said, surprised. He held one hand behind his back.

"Whatcha got there?" Michael asked.

Lincoln grumbled and showed Michael the crane between his fingertips. "I'm going on my morning run," he said. "Want to come?"

Michael stood and the kitten leapt off his lap. He took the crane with a smile and set it on his nightstand. "Sure. Let me change and feed Stormy here."

"Stormy?" Lincoln asked, grinning.

"I keep forgetting to ask what you think," Michael replied, digging through the middle drawer of his wardrobe, "but I think that smile means you like it."

Lincoln picked the cat up himself. "I do. It's cute." He kissed Stormy's head and received a little chirrup in response.

Michael picked out a tank top and shorts and changed as Lincoln babbled at the cat.

"Stormy. Stormy! You like that name? Stormy Burrows?"

Michael laughed and tugged the tank top over his head. "Stormy Scofield?" he suggested.

"No way," Lincoln said, "I found her." The kitten clawed her way to Lincoln’s shoulder and Lincoln had to pry her loose. Michael pulled on his shorts.

"Are you calling dibs on a cat?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," Lincoln replied, smiling as he nuzzled the kitten. He turned and spat hair out of his mouth. "On second thought..."

Stormy wiggled out of his grip and Lincoln set her down. She yammered at Michael as he slipped on his socks. "Alright, kitty, alright. Let's get you fed."

They went downstairs. Michael cracked open a can of wet food, put it on a plate, and watched as Stormy gobbled it down. He followed Lincoln to the door and stopped him as they stood outside the front door.

"Stretch first," he said.

"Fine. How?" Lincoln asked.

Michael pulled his knee to his chest and demonstrated a few other good ones.

"Alex show you those?" Lincoln asked, trying to touch his toes.

"Yup," Michael said.

"How is Alex?"

Michael glanced at Lincoln before standing up straight. "Okay as far as I know."

Lincoln gave up on his toes and faced Michael. "Good. Let's get going."

Michael jogged after him as they trailed through the neighborhood and out. Lincoln led them around the park and out of the neighborhood, past the high school into an area unfamiliar to Michael, though recognizable by the set of barbed wire fences surrounding the facility. The Joliet Penitentiary.

The grass they ran on extended into the prison yard, where blue-suited cons roamed around. Some men leaned against the perimeter fence, presumably to say hi to their buddies several feet behind another chain-link fence. One turned as he heard footsteps running towards him.

"Hey, Muscles!" he called, grinning with missing teeth, "You got a little friend!"

"Keep running," Lincoln said, without turning towards the long-haired man.

Michael focused on the green grass beneath his feet and ran alongside him.

"Hey, hey, hey," another man piped up, much taller than the first, "Show us your friend."

"Yeah, come here!" said Snaggletooth.

"Look at that tight little ass," a third leered. "Come here, Angel." He reached out to touch Michael as they passed and Lincoln punched him in his red face as hard as he could. The guy fell to the ground and didn't get up.

"What the fuck, man?" Snaggletooth yelled.

"You'll pay for that," said Giant, stepping over their friend as he stirred on the ground. 

Lincoln backed away, shaking out his hand as he went. He reached back for Michael and shoved him when he made contact, turning around in a whirl. "Run!" he shouted.

He had to shove Michael again to get him to move, and then they were sprinting as fast as they could away from the prison as the two men gave chase, the third not far behind. Off the worn path in the grass, feet pounding the pavement of the sidewalk, Michael looked over his shoulder to find all three still after them, the tallest terrifyingly close. Michael tripped and Lincoln yanked him up.

"C'mon!" he barked, "Keep running!"

They turned the corner of the block, past a neighborhood and into a line of smoke shops and restaurants. Lincoln grabbed Michael's hand and pulled him into the nearest one, tumbling over a dustpan onto the dark flooring as their pursuers burst inside. Michael looked up in horror as Blotchy Face straddled Lincoln and punched him twice in the face, his horror growing as Giant picked him up and held him tight by his arms, letting Snaggletooth come over and touch his lips with reeking fingers.

"Don't touch him!" Lincoln yelled. Another punch to the face. The other patrons had long scrambled to the exit or the bathroom in the back.

"Hold him over the table," Snaggletooth directed. Michael fought to get out of Giant's grip as the man shifted, two hands on his shoulders forcing him over the red tablecloth. Michael pushed at the wooden table, the tablecloth preventing him from getting any traction. Hands grabbed his hips. He turned his head to the side and saw Lincoln beating Blotchy Face’s blotchy face into a pulp.

“Linc!” he called out.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart,” someone said. Michael looked up and saw Snaggletooth in front of him on the other side of the table. The hands on his hips drifted lower.

“Linc!” Michael cried. Lincoln drew back his bloody fist and hit Blotchy Face one last time, knocking him out cold. He rose to his feet, face full of rage, and made to do the same to Giant, but the taller man caught Lincoln’s fist in mid-swing and twisted his arm. Lincoln yelped. Michael moved to fight alongside his brother, but Snaggletooth grabbed his arms and pulled him back over the table.

“Thought you could get away, huh? That’s not happening.”

A booming voice stopped Snaggletooth short.

"What the  _fuck_  is happening in here?"

Michael knew that voice, and feared it. Apparently he wasn't the only one. 

Snaggletooth let go of him and Giant released Lincoln. Blotchy Face groaned back to life as Michael threw himself into Lincoln’s arms. He glanced at the source of the voice, wide-eyed.

John Abruzzi stood in front of the pizza counter, a broom off to the side of him. He locked eyes with Michael.

"These..." He waved at the criminals. "Scum giving you trouble?"

Michael clutched at Lincoln and nodded. Lincoln held him tight.

John came closer, voice low but rising. "Whose name is on this building?" he asked the men.

"Yours," Snaggletooth said, grinning.

"Did I give you permission to harass boys on the street?"

"You didn't tell us not to," Giant said.

"On the contrary," John said, "I specifically said, do not do anything without asking an Abruzzi first. Did you ask me?"

A low murmur from Blotchy Face.

"Did you ask my father?"

"No."

"My beautiful mother?"

"...No."

"Then get the hell out and pray my father doesn't listen to me when I tell him to kill you."

Silence.

John advanced on them. "You fucking morons. I'm going to cut your dicks off and feed them to you! Get out!"

The three men scrambled out of the pizzeria and left behind two winded brothers. John looked oddly disappointed in them before waving them to the back of the store, calling out, "Sorry everyone! Go back to eating," as he went, not caring that they all made for the exit instead. John pulled a bag of frozen sausage bits out of the freezer and gave it to Lincoln, gesturing for them to sit on two plastic crates next to a row of storage shelves. John leaned against a steel counter.

"I thought I told you never to come in here again," he told Michael.

Michael gaped at him.

"So you do know my brother," Lincoln replied, holding the frozen sausage to his eye.

John raised his brows and crossed his arms. "Big mouth, this one has. Yeah, I do. Teddy's boyfriend still?"

Michael clamped his mouth shut and gave him a nod.

"And are you taking care of him?" John asked.

He'd tried, Michael thought. He nodded.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second," Lincoln said, "Does that matter? You just saved him from who-knows-what."

John smacked Lincoln upside the head. "Thanks are in order. I'm just trying to figure out if I should throw you out too."

"Theodore and I are good," Michael said, "Thank you for helping us."

John smiled as Lincoln scowled. "You're welcome. Try not to be so distracting, huh?" He gestured to Michael's running outfit.

Michael looked down at himself.

"It's not Michael's fault those guys are pigs," Lincoln said, adjusting the sausage on his face. John shrugged.

"Can we go now?" Michael asked.

John smiled. "You're free to go. Give Teddy my regards."

Michael nodded and stood. Lincoln moved to follow him and John put a hand on his chest. Lincoln handed him the sausage bag and John hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

Lincoln hurried to catch up with Michael and pressed his hand to the small of his back. Michael jumped out of his skin and Lincoln turned him quickly, both hands cupped to his cheeks. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Michael took a shaky breath as the chaos finally set in, how perilously close he had come to a public humiliation. Worse than that. Michael kneaded his fingers in Lincoln's shirt, trying to fight the panic in his lungs. Lincoln pulled him close.

"I'm so sorry, Mikey," he murmured, holding him impossibly tight, "I didn't think they'd bother you. I didn't think. They've never tried to touch me. I'm sorry."

Michael buried his face in Lincoln's shoulder, clinging to him like he was the only sure thing in the world. Lincoln rubbed his back.

"It's alright, Mikey. You're safe now. I've got you."

Michael held him tighter as he heard footsteps approaching from behind the pizza counter.

"You're still here?" John asked.

Michael pushed off Lincoln and wiped under his eye with an elegant thumb, chest rising and falling with a sharp breath.

"Aww," John cooed. He ran a hand threw his slightly spiked hair. "Goons scared you, huh? C'mon." He curled a finger towards himself, then repeated the order when they didn't follow him. “ _C’mon_.”

Lincoln put his arm around Michael and they followed John to where several pizzas were still baking. They watched as he pulled cinnamon bread out of the oven and placed it in a box on a stainless steel table.

"You like icing?" John asked.

Michael neglected to answer, so Lincoln nodded for him, his hand still rubbing circles into Michael's back.

John squeezed icing over the cinnamon bread and cut a piece for Michael. Michael brought it to his mouth.

"Careful, it's hot," John warned.

Michael blew on it and took a bite. "Mm..."

"You like it?" John asked.

Michael wiped his eyes again and nodded.

"It's yours," he said, "on me."

Michael pointed to the rest of the cinnamon bread.

"Uh huh, yours. Sorry about those guys. Can't keep it in their pants."

"They should be arrested," Lincoln said, smoothing a hand over Michael's head as he ate, concentrating on the sweetness in his mouth. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the lingering sensation of hands on his body.

"Yeah..." John began, "But castration's more fun."

Michael paused his chewing and looked up at him.

"Hey, it's up to you, man," Lincoln said, holding his hands up.

John held a hand to his belly and laughed. "You thought I was serious. Good. Takes a lot to get it through their thick skulls..." He tapped his knuckles against his forehead.

Lincoln laughed awkwardly and ran his hand up and down Michael's back a few times. "Feeling better, buddy?"

Michael set down the piece he was eating and nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. John boxed up the cinnamon bread for him and put a hand on his shoulder before they left.

"If they give you trouble again, tell me," he said. "I'll take care of it."

Michael could see why Theodore liked him now. "Thanks, I will," he said softly.

Lincoln put his arm around Michael and walked him home, pizza box balanced against his hip.

"So was that guy like totally mafia or what?" Lincoln joked.

Michael was quiet.

"Are you okay, Mikey? I promise I'll never do anything so stupid again. I never meant—”

"I know, Linc," Michael said, surprising him. "It's not your fault. I just need some peace and quiet."

Lincoln ran his teeth over his lip. "Okay, Mikey. None of that was your fault, though. It was mine."

Michael took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He leaned into Lincoln's side as they walked, the loud sounds of the street jarring his nerves. They got home safe and sound.

* * *

Christina left some time while the boys were running and returned before noon with a trunk full of groceries. Michael and Lincoln went to help bring them inside. Christina looked up from the open trunk and started at the sight of Lincoln's face.

"What happened?" she questioned.

"Tripped," Lincoln said, shrugging.

Christina narrowed her eyes. "My guests can't see you like that."

"So I don't have to go?" he asked.

"You have to go," she said, pulling out a box of Band-Aids from a grocery bag, "Put some of these on. Michael, will you start the lasagna?"

Michael set down his groceries on the kitchen counter. "Yes, Mom." He got out a pot for the noodles and filled it with water from the tap. Lincoln went to his side.

"You want help?" he asked, fiddling with a bandage too small for the cuts on his face.

"No," Michael said, avoiding his eyes.

Lincoln studied him for a moment and left him alone.

* * *

Cooking helped get his mind off things. With the lasagna and other side dishes done, Michael put his plan into motion.

"Do you want me to work on the front yard?" he asked Christina.

She lit up with a smile. "That's a great idea. Be done in twenty minutes, okay? I need the table set."

He nodded and took the key to the garage with him. Michael raked all the leaves in the front yard and bagged them. He pulled the weeds and trimmed the bushes, leaving the apple tree alone. Michael smiled at his work and carried his bike out of the garage, placing it behind the trash bin and leaf bags in the side yard. He closed the garage, locked it up, and went back inside to place forks and knives on folded napkins. Christina checked his work and sent him upstairs to shower.

Michael washed himself as meticulously as he'd arranged the silverware, filling the bathroom with steam. He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, wiping a circular spot on the mirror so he could shave. Cheeks soft and stubble-free once more, Michael turned in front of the mirror, glancing at his back and shoulders, then removed the towel and gazed at his hips and butt. No bruises yet. He didn't want to think about it. He put the towel back on and opened the door. It let in a rush of cold air, making him hurry to his room to put clothes on. He picked out dress pants and a white button-down shirt he hadn't worn for a year. It was a little snug, and short in the sleeves. Michael went downstairs and snuck into his mother's room when she wasn't looking. He picked a blue dress shirt from where Christina still kept Aldo's things, even though she wouldn't admit it. Michael tried it on and found the fit much more suitable. He wondered what his father would say.

* * *

Lincoln came downstairs when the guests started arriving, wearing a dress shirt like Michael’s but jeans instead of something fancier. He and Michael shook hands with everyone as Christina greeted them at the door. Michael tried to turn off the part of his brain that overanalyzed, memorized, and scrutinized. Two women, Kimberly Smith and Emma Prince, were part of Headlock Publishing House's leadership committee, one about Christina's age and one older, rounder, with graying hair, the younger with long, bouncy curls and a too powerful perfume. A man followed, white haired and square-shaped, would be intimidating if Michael hadn't met the epitome of terrifying earlier that day. His name was Jonathan Krantz.

Christina offered drinks and Michael stayed close to Lincoln, although they didn't talk.

"Your boys are very handsome," Emma said. "How old are they?"

Christina relayed the information and everything Michael was skilled at, not giving much praise to Lincoln. Eventually they sat and shared the food Michael had made. The conversation never swayed toward business, as much as Christina willed it to.

"My sons are older than yours," said Kimberly, "except for Charlie, of course." She rubbed her round belly.

"Sam must be so proud," Emma gushed.

"Oh, he is! He took it upon himself to repaint the nursery. It's exquisite."

Christina wouldn't use the word exquisite to describe anything other than the jewelry she wore. "Your sons," she began, "What were they like at Michael's age? Did they still have sleepovers?"

Michael's heart skipped a beat.

"Sleepovers?" Jonathan asked, voice a rumble.

"Yes," said Christina, "Did they ever have other boys come over and stay the night at sixteen?"

"Well, no," Kimberly replied. "They'd outgrown that sort of thing. But I don't see the harm in having friends over."

"Not friends, plural," Christina said. "Just one."

Michael was white as a ghost. Lincoln offered his hand under the table.

"You're sure they just wanted to play?" Emma asked.

"Maybe a different definition of play," Jonathan said.

Christina stiffened and glanced at Michael. "No," she said sharply. "Michael can explain himself, I'm sure."

Michael squeezed Lincoln's hand hard, trying to figure out what to say. "I..." he started. "I... He's..."

Everyone's eyes were on him, burning through him, judging him. Michael stood up and excused himself with a quick, "Sorry, I'm not feeling well," before dashing upstairs. The plan had gone off the rails.

Lincoln cleared his throat to draw the attention of the guests back to him. "Theodore is Michael's friend from history class. They had a project. Michael's very serious about school, you know that."

"Then why didn't he say so?" Kimberly asked.

"Because it's not your business," Lincoln snapped, standing up. He pushed in his chair. "Hope you enjoyed your dinner, Mom."

Christina glared at him, tight-lipped. Lincoln went after Michael. He found him with one leg out the window.

"Michael!" he hissed.

Michael froze and met Lincoln's gaze.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Out," Michael said.

Lincoln huffed and came closer. "Out where?"

Michael sat balanced on the window ledge. "To a party."

Lincoln took a step towards him and Michael held out his hand, fingers splayed.

"I'm going, whether you say so or not," he asserted.

"Okay," Lincoln said softly, "Fine. You can make decisions for yourself."

Michael nodded, wondering what the angle was. Lincoln could be a very smooth talker.

"Who's going with you?" Lincoln asked.

"I'm meeting my  _boyfriend_  there," Michael said bitterly.

"You're going alone, at night, after what happened today?"

Michael grimaced. "I deserve this," he said, "This one little bit of freedom. Don't tell me not to go."

Lincoln inched closer. "That's not what I said."

Michael could feel the fire growing inside him. "Why does it matter who I'm interested in? What do they care? This is my life."

Lincoln just listened as Michael hardly paused for breath.

"I've already met guys like me. They're not bad, they're not different—"

"You're not bad, Michael," Lincoln said.

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? Strangers, judging me. Mom won't even care if she finds me gone."

"That's not true," Lincoln argued.

"I thought I was finally going to make it this year," Michael said, "I thought I'd have friends. That's all I want. Now she won't let me have anyone over, if she doesn't disown—"

Michael slipped, eyes bulging as he saw the ground on the other side of the ledge come closer in a whirl of vertigo. Lincoln grabbed him in the blink of an eye and pulled him back inside.

Lincoln hugged Michael tight as they sat huddled on the carpet.

"You're getting ahead of yourself," Lincoln reassured him. "I covered for you."

Michael gave a sideways glance to the window he'd almost fallen out of. He turned back to Lincoln. "You did?"

"Yeah. Said you had a project. Mikey, I love you, I always will. No matter what, I'm on your side."

Michael gave a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Linc."

"That's all?" Lincoln asked.

Michael smiled and kissed his cheek. "I love you too, Linc." A pause. "Are you gonna let me go to this party?"

"Now you ask?" Lincoln teased.

Michael gave him a light shove.

"Only if I drop you off and pick you up,” Lincoln answered, “And no drinking, at all. Don't stay late either."

Michael slipped out of Lincoln’s arms to face him. "Linc, the point was to sneak out. Mom will stop us at the door."

Lincoln was insistent. "We're not climbing the apple tree. Don't you know the branches are brittle?"

"Oh," Michael murmured. "How then?"

"My window has a ledge that can help us get down."

Michael pictured the front of the house and how the ceiling tiles sloped in front of Lincoln's window. It could work.

"Deal?" Lincoln asked.

"Deal," Michael said.

They stood and tiptoed into Lincoln's room. Lincoln opened the window and helped Michael out, then climbed onto the ledge himself. He held Michael back as he looked out over the ledge.

"I'll go first," he whispered.

Michael rolled his eyes.

Lincoln slid down slowly and lowered himself over the ledge with his upper body strength, letting go as his feet dangled two feet above the ground. He landed and stumbled backwards into a bush, miffed but otherwise okay. He gestured for Michael to come down.

Michael mimicked Lincoln's actions, stopping as a roar of laughter echoed inside. Christina must have recovered the atmosphere. Michael gripped the rain gutter and cringed as it creaked. He lowered one leg over the side, then the other, almost giggling as he felt Lincoln wrap his arms around his middle and pull him down. Lincoln took his keys out of his back pocket.

"Wait," Michael blurted, "The engine makes too much noise."

"How are we supposed to get there then?" Lincoln asked.

Michael retrieved his bicycle from the side yard.

Lincoln peered over Michael’s shoulder. "You hide mine back there too?"

"This was a one-man mission before you joined," Michael responded.

Lincoln laughed and Michael shushed him. He examined Michael's bike.

"Can you balance on the back?" Lincoln whispered.

"Can you?" Michael asked.

"Uh uh. I'm steering."

"You don't know where the house is."

"So guide me."

"This is my bike," Michael argued.

"You wanna go or not?" Lincoln demanded. Michael sighed and Lincoln threw his leg over the bike, waiting for Michael to sit on the back above the wheel before pushing the pedals. It was slow to get moving with the both of them on it. They ventured into the night, finding their destination only two blocks away.

Michael gave a quick thanks to Lincoln and smiled as he rode the bike back to their house. Music thudded inside the glowing two-story house and Michael dusted off his clothes before going inside.

Someone had replaced all the lights in the house with bulbs of different colors, casting vibrant shades of blue and purple and pink on everything. Confetti strips decorated the furniture. Michael pulled the picture of Maricruz out of his pocket and squinted at the dark-haired couple making out on the couch in the front room. Not her.

Michael moved on to the dining room, eyes widening as a blond boy drew a picture on the wall in permanent marker. A shorter, well-built boy snatched the marker from his hand and yelled, “Dude, what’s wrong with you?” He licked his hand and scrubbed at the wall. “It’s not coming off! My mom’s gonna kill me!”

It had to be Fernando’s cousin. Michael approached him as he grabbed a pile of napkins and tried rubbing off the marks again. “Hi, do you know Maricruz?” he asked.

The boy turned to him, face drawn. “Who’s askin’?”

Michael held up his hand. “A friend,” he said.

Fernando’s cousin rolled his eyes. He tipped his head to the left. “Last I saw she was eating cherries in the kitchen.”

Michael nodded and thanked him. He pushed through the crowd and observed the kitchen. Food was scattered around the counter along with red plastic cups and discarded plates. Some girls were drinking and laughing, but Maricruz wasn’t one of them.

Michael turned for the family room, where music was blasting from large stereo speakers. Maricruz wore a teal dress and a small, sparkly tiara that shined with her smile. She sat on the armrest of a sofa as she talked to one of her friends. Michael couldn’t help his own triumphant smile as he tugged the letter out of his back pocket. The girls stopped talking when he got close and looked at him expectantly.

Michael handed Maricruz the letter with a calm, "This is for you," deciding not to say it was from Fernando in case she tore it up on the spot. Maricruz's friend beamed and declared not-so-subtly, "You have an admirer!"

Michael smiled as he turned away and made to disappear in the crowd. He sat at the bottom of the staircase, all other appropriate seats hosting happy, drunken bodies. Michael hoped Theodore would show soon. Someone's hand closed around his shoulder and he looked up, startled.

"Alex," he said, relief evident in his voice.

Alex sipped a can of beer and said, "You look like you could use a drink."

Michael smiled weakly. "Do I?"

Alex patted his shoulder. He'd chosen to go casual this evening, while Michael wore the formal attire Alex usually did. "I'll get you one," he said.

Michael caught his sleeve before he could dive into the crowd. "I'm good, actually."

Alex took another sip. "Sure? One beer won't get you drunk."

Michael thought about his promise to Lincoln. But Lincoln wouldn't have to know. "One," he replied, holding up a finger.

Alex winked and wove his way back to the kitchen. Michael waited a minute or two before wondering if he was ever coming back.

"Pretty!" Theodore called upon spotting him. He sat beside him and said in a hushed voice, "You didn't tell me this was a Mexican party."

Michael didn't know what to make of his statement. "Is that a problem?"

"No, no! I just thought I was in the wrong place, that's all," he explained, his animated expression slipping as he noticed Michael's glum one. "Everything okay, Pretty?" he asked, a soothing hand on his knee.

"No," Michael answered, "It's not." He picked at the carpet on the stairs.

Theodore squeezed Michael's knee. "You can tell me."

Michael figured if someone overheard him, they'd be too drunk to remember the next day. He took a breath and said, "My mom knows now. About us. I didn't tell her explicitly, but she's smart enough to get it."

"Are you in trouble?" Theodore asked softly.

Michael threw his hands in the air. "I have no idea. But she wasn't happy."

"Let's forget about it," Theodore suggested, standing and taking Michael's hand to pull him up. "You want a drink?"

Alex wiggled through the crowd with a beer can in each hand, dropping his enthusiastic smile when he saw Theodore.

"T-Bag," he said.

"Alex," Theodore said.

Alex turned to Michael and extended his arm to hand him the beer. Theodore snatched it from him and inspected it. He handed it to Michael upon approval. Michael glanced between the two of them before popping the tab and taking a sip.

"Seriously?" Alex asked.

"Can't be too careful," Theodore said.

"Spiking a drink's more your style, isn't it?"

Theodore wrapped his arm around Michael and declared, "I would never." Michael smiled and nodded and sipped his drink. This was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea.

"Wanna dance, Pretty?" Theodore asked, both arms snaking around him now. Michael detangled himself from him and said, "I'm not really in the dancing mood."

Theodore smiled anyway. He raised his arms as he said, "Pretty, we need to _lift_ your spirits. Would it help if we changed the music?"

Michael tuned into the Latin pop song he'd heard on the radio once or twice. "No, I like it," he said.

"Perhaps if you had a different partner," Alex proposed, his cheeks rosy with alcohol.

Michael chuckled even as Theodore glared at him and gave Alex a shove.

"Back off, Hot Shot. He's already got a partner."

Alex shoved Theodore back harder, ordering, "Don't touch me."

Michael slipped between them instantly, his back to Alex. "No more fighting. Please."

Theodore huffed and grabbed Michael by the arm, taking him to where the music was loudest, leaving Alex alone with his beer.

"You like the music, right?" Theodore shouted by the black, vibrating speakers.

"Right," Michael shouted back, but the most dancing he was doing was in the tap of his foot. Theodore grabbed his hips and Michael jumped.

"What are you doing?" Michael demanded, pushing his hands off and looking around nervously.

"Gettin' you movin'," Theodore replied. No one was paying attention to them. Still, Michael was unnerved by the conversation at dinner.

"C'mon, Pretty," Theodore pleaded, "I feel stupid just standing here."

Michael thought a moment more and decided he needed to stop thinking so much. He chugged the rest of his beer and set the can on a coffee table, brows furrowed.

"Feel anything?" Theodore asked, head tilted.

Michael sighed. "No."

Theodore looked at the can again. "There's hardly any alcohol in this. C'mon, I'll get you a real drink. Then you can relax." He led Michael by the hand to the kitchen. Through the sliding glass door to the backyard, Michael glimpsed Maricruz shaking her head at the letter, her friend still as enthusiastic as before. Theodore dug through a red cooler filled with ice and drinks.

"You like lemonade, Pretty?" he asked.

Michael blinked back to him. "Yes."

Theodore chose two frosty bottles and announced, "Here we are.” He tugged a bottle opener out of his pocket and swiftly pulled off the caps on each drink, the sharp tang of citrus greeting their senses. Theodore handed Michael his and they toasted each other, the glass bottles clicking.

"You keep a bottle opener with you?" Michael asked between sips.

Theodore wiped his mouth and showed him each of the tool's other gadgets, from a short blade to a screwdriver.

"Oh, neat. I think Lincoln has one like that," Michael said, and took another sip that made his lips pucker. Theodore smiled at him and put the tool back in his pocket.

“Feel like dancing yet?” he asked, putting his elbow on the counter and leaning into Michael’s personal space.

"Should I?" Michael asked. He leaned back against the sliding glass door, knocking over a bowl of dog food as he positioned his feet. Whoops. Michael laughed.

Maricruz stole Michael's attention as she came back inside and strode right up to him. "Fernando sent you, right?"

"Right,” Michael affirmed.

"He wrote this?" she asked.

"I watched him," Michael said.

Maricruz held the letter to her heart and gushed at her friend. "You were right! My Fernando's not a criminal. It was for love!"

Michael smiled as Maricruz and her friend squeed and had celebratory drinks with leftover pizza and tacos.

"I have to call him!" Maricruz realized with a gasp.

Theodore edged away from the kitchen counter and put his arm around Michael. “Are you playin’ Cupid tonight?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Michael returned the gesture and squeezed his side, encouraged by the affection. “It seems so.”

Theodore wore a bashful smile. “You got any arrows left for me?”

Michael quirked a brow and pulled him near. “Maybe,” he said.

“I have one for you,” Theodore teased.

Michael’s eyes went wide and he lifted his lemonade to his lips. He was surprised to find it empty.

Theodore took it from him, still grinning at his joke. "You want another one?"

"Maybe not,” Michael replied, worried about keeping a level head. He was warm all over.

Theodore finished off his lemonade and tossed it on an overflowing pile of trash. Michael watched as it wobbled between crumpled napkins, nearly crashing to the floor before it finally settled. He observed the partygoers as Theodore popped open another lemonade. It wasn’t unthinkable that he could join them. Not if he felt so relaxed.

"Actually," Michael said.

Theodore grinned knowingly and handed him the lemonade. He chose a beer for himself, the one with hardly any alcohol. Michael saw Alex wave from the corner of the family room, where most of the dancing was happening. Michael smiled back and moved to join him, inexplicable energy building inside him. Theodore noticed and grabbed his arm, leading him to the backyard so they could drink in peace. They sat on a patio swing and moved back and forth gently.

“I thought you wanted to dance,” Michael said, gazing at him and his overly feathery hair.

“Only with you,” Theodore responded, smirking. He brought his beer to his lips.

Michael put his arm around him and looked up at the stars. He frowned at his lemonade. "I told my brother I wouldn't drink," he confessed.

Theodore turned and nuzzled Michael’s cheek. "Thought you wanted to have a good time," he said. He bit Michael’s ear. Michael giggled.

"Yeah, but..." Michael trailed off as Theodore kissed his neck. “Mmm…”

Theodore pressed a final kiss to his jaw and advised, "At least finish that one. Don't waste it."

Michael nodded. That made sense. A cool breeze blew over them and Theodore snuggled closer. Michael drank his lemonade quickly with the hopes of using both hands on Theodore. The stars spun out of control in white blurs as he moved to set down his bottle. He reached for Theodore's leg to stop the bench from swinging.

Theodore stilled and tipped Michael's chin towards him. "Dizzy, Pretty?"

Michael closed his eyes. The music still blared inside. "Can we go somewhere quiet?" he asked.

"Sure," Theodore said, taking Michael's hands. "We'll go upstairs. How's that sound?" He pulled Michael off the swing bench and supported him as he lost his footing. Michael righted himself and they went inside, Theodore guiding him by the hand up the stairs. He had Michael wait in the hall as he checked a few rooms. For what, Michael didn't know.

Theodore waved Michael to the bedroom at the end of the hall and let him in first, locking the door behind him. The walls were painted sky blue with fluffy white clouds, and there were toys in the corner and a bed fit for a princess in the center of the room. The stereo was muffled up here.

"Now will you dance with me?" Theodore asked.

Michael laughed and held out his arms for a waltz. Theodore repositioned their hands so he was the lead. They swayed back and forth, chest to chest.

"You're short," Michael said.

"Thanks," Theodore grumbled.

"Shorter, I mean."

"Uh huh..."

"I'm too dizzy for this," Michael said, the floor warping beneath him. Theodore held him close.

"What about this?" He hooked a hand behind Michael’s neck and drew him in for the faintest of kisses.

Michael smiled widely as they parted and closed his eyes for another brief touch. The space between them evaporated as they kissed heatedly, all tongue and no air as Theodore held Michael up by his shirt, fingers working the buttons open. Shirt off with an easy slide of fabric, Theodore moved on and tugged at his belt, mouth still busy painting red marks on Michael’s neck.

"Teddy," Michael started.

"Mm?" He pulled his belt off in one swift motion, then unzipped Michael's pants and let them drop to the floor. Theodore stepped back and looked at him, teeth rolling over his bottom lip. "Pretty, you are divine."

Michael blushed a deep red. "Teddy..."

Theodore came closer and ran his fingers up and down Michael's sides, catching in the waistband of his boxers. Michael's breath hitched. Theodore met his eyes and eased the boxers down.

Michael caught his hands belatedly. "Wait."

"Are you nervous?" Theodore asked. He stroked his face soothingly. "Nothin' to be nervous about. I'll be real gentle."

"But..." Michael was struggling to think. Something was wrong. Theodore turned him around and bent him over the bed, smoothing a hand up his back. "I knew you'd look good on these pink sheets," he said, swirling a finger around his ear, "I'd even dare to say your ears match the color."

"Stop," Michael managed. Theodore pulled back his hand.

"Sorry, did that tickle? Tell me if this tickles, alright?" Theodore slipped a hand between his cheeks.

"Teddy!" Michael protested, trying to prop himself up and failing. Why was he so uncoordinated? Why wasn't Theodore listening to him? Michael fell into despair.

There was a knock on the door. "Michael, are you in there?"

Did he hear that right?

Another loud rap on the door. "Michael?"

His breath hitched horridly. "Here!"

"The door is locked for a  _reason_ ," Theodore snapped. 

"Michael, are you okay?" It was Alex.

Theodore gritted his teeth and called out, "He's busy! Go away!"

"Michael, are you alright?" Alex asked again.

"No!" Michael yelled.

"No?" Theodore noticed a tear slide down the side of his face. "Pretty, what's wrong?"

"Open the door," Alex demanded. The house rattled as he banged on the door.

Theodore shushed him. "Don't cry, Pretty. I wasn't gonna hurt you. Look, see?" Theodore turned him over and wiped his face, then smiled. "No one's forcin' you, Pretty."

Alex broke the lock and burst through the door, tackling Theodore to the floor in seconds. He pointed to Michael.

"Michael's drunk!"

"Yeah, aren't you?" Theodore retorted.

"Sober enough to notice you trying to get him plastered all night."

"I was not!"

Alex punched him in the face and Michael flinched.

"That's rape, T-Bag!"

Theodore's eyes widened. "Is not! Pretty, tell him you wanted to!" He looked up at Michael from the floor, pinned underneath Alex, his cheekbone red and bleeding. "Tell him!"

Michael didn't know. He wanted this whole thing to stop. He took a fuzzy blanket from the bed and wrapped it around himself, feeling stupid for not covering himself sooner.

Alex glared at Theodore. "Doesn't matter if he wanted to, he could barely walk on his own. That's rape."

"Stop sayin' that word!" Theodore swung at Alex, but Alex caught his wrist and pinned it to the carpet.

"I could have a squad car here in seconds," he spat.

"Like hell you could. Get off me!"

Michael slid off the bed and stumbled, reaching for a fluffy purple phone on the nightstand. He picked it up and dialed home on the second try.

"Linc? I need you."

Alex and Theodore squabbled on the floor, getting rug burns as Theodore tried to throw Alex off him. Theodore ripped his Swiss Army Knife knockoff out of his pocket and held out the blade at Alex, its silver surface glinting under the light of a unicorn lamp.

"Get. Off. Me."

Alex scrambled away from him.

"Out," Theodore ordered, flicking the blade to the side twice.

"I'm not leaving you alone with him," Alex argued, fists clenched at his sides, his long hair disheveled.

Theodore turned a new shade of red. "I said, _get out!"_

Footsteps came up the stairs and Alex barricaded the door with a chair. No need to let the whole world see Michael naked and upset.

"Great! Look what you did," Theodore said, pointing with the knife, "Now everyone's gonna think the real party's in here!"

"For the love of god, put that away!" Alex shouted.

Theodore twirled the knife. "Got ya scared?"

"Theodore, please," Michael pleaded, wiping his face with his palm. The tears wouldn’t stop coming.

"You're scaring him," Alex accused.

"Shut it, Hot Shot!" Theodore folded the blade back into place and put it in his pocket. He went to Michael's side and reached for his cheek. Michael shuddered away.

"Michael?" Theodore whispered, concern in his eyes.

"Outta my way!" someone shouted in the hallway. "Mike! Are you in there?"

Michael rushed for the door and Alex stopped him. "I'll get it, I'll get it, don't worry," he said. Michael waited as Alex moved the chair and let Lincoln in, along with a chorus of, "What's going on in there? Let us see!"

Alex shut the door with great effort and blocked it as Michael and Lincoln embraced, the blanket slipping down Michael's shoulders. They parted.

"Mikey, you're—" Lincoln's eyes widened and he tugged the blanket tight around him. Lincoln hugged him to his chest and cleared his throat. "No one's going anywhere until I find out what happened. You two, sit.  _Now_."

Alex and Theodore sat five feet apart on a plush rug as Theodore insisted, "Nothin' happened."

Lincoln scowled as his hands moved soothingly over Michael's back. "Shut up. Mikey? Are you hurt?"

Michael shook his head, shaking tears out of his eyes.

"No? Or you don't know?" Lincoln asked.

"I didn't touch him," Alex said, hoping to clear up the picture.

"I said shut up! Turn around, Mikey. Just for a second."

Michael did what Lincoln asked and covered his face. Lincoln gave his backside a quick glance and wrapped the blanket back around him.

"You're alright, Mike. No more tears." Lincoln kissed his cheek and wiped the other. "You just got scared?"

Michael nodded and snuffled, eyes welling with big drops. Lincoln hugged him, gazing with such hate over his shoulder that Theodore shot straight up.

"That's right, he got scared. S'not my fault!"

"You two are done," Lincoln ordered.

"I was only here to stop him," Alex tried to explain.

"No," Lincoln said, "Not you. Theodore and my brother. You're done. Don't come around. Don't talk to him. Don't touch him."

Theodore grew misty eyed himself. "This was just a misunderstanding!"

"I'm sorry," Michael whimpered.

Lincoln turned his attention to Michael and softened his voice. "Mikey, don't cry. We can't let anyone see you like this, huh?"

"Pretty," Theodore begged.

Lincoln picked up Michael's clothes and helped him get dressed, using the blanket like a room divider. He buttoned up Michael's shirt as he asked, "You're Alex?"

Alex cleared his voice, rough from all the yelling. "Yeah."

Lincoln squared him up. "You seem like an okay guy. If my brother tells me differently tomorrow, you're in for it."

Alex glanced at Theodore and then at his feet. Maybe he hadn't gone about this the right way.

"I want to go home," Michael murmured.

"We're going home, Mikey," Lincoln replied. He wiped his cheeks one last time and hoped no one had a camera on them. He led Michael to the door and put his hand on the chair blocking their exit.

"What about Mom?" Michael asked, looking up at Lincoln.

"We'll deal with her when we get there,” he said. He tossed the chair to the side and shoved through the crowd gathered around the door. Down the hall, down the stairs, out the door, and across the street sat Lincoln's truck. The loud, creaky truck. Michael was relieved to see it.

Lincoln helped Michael up and buckled him in before taking the short journey home. He didn't talk. Michael breathed easy.

Home. Out of the truck. Unlock the front door. Step inside.

"Where were you?"

Sharper than a snap, crueler than a reprimand, Christina intercepted them before they could get close to Michael's bedroom. She still wore her silver sequined dress, but the guests had gone.

"Go upstairs, Michael," Lincoln said, nudging him. He stumbled. Christina grabbed his collar.

"Are you drunk?"

She sniffed him, eyes lighting up with a wickedness Michael thought must have been amplified by his drinking.

"This is a very serious offense, Michael," she began. Lincoln pulled Michael out of her grasp and moved Michael till he was sheltered behind him.

"Blame me, okay?" Lincoln declared, "I took him to the party. This is my fault."

"A party?"

"Where else was he gonna drink? You pushed him to it with your wild accusations."

That again. Michael hung his head.

"Are they wild, though?" Christina asked, peeking around Lincoln to look at Michael. "Look at me, Michael. Answer me."

Lincoln reached back and touched Michael's arm. "Stop badgering him. It's none of your business anyway."

"I'm his mother!"

Lincoln's voice rose to twice the volume of hers. "Then act like it!"

Christina touched a hand to her chest. "If my son is one of those—those homos—"

Lincoln swung his fist across her face. She crashed to the floor and didn't move. Michael blinked, wide-eyed.

"Mom?" Lincoln eked out. His voice was tiny. He dropped to his knees and shook her. "Mom!"

"Linc?" Michael urged.

Christina came back to consciousness with a fear in her eyes Lincoln hadn't seen before. "Get away from me!" She shoved him and ran to her room. The door slammed.

Michael touched Lincoln's shoulder as he sat squatted over where Christina had fallen, stunned. "Linc," he muttered.

Lincoln rose to his feet and said, "I'm sorry."

Michael leaned into his chest, despite the conflicting feelings in his own. Lincoln kissed his head and took him upstairs. He tucked him into bed and filled his water glass, quietly ordering him to drink it all before sleeping. He turned for the door.

"Wait," Michael called.

Lincoln stopped and unclenched his jaw.

"Stay," Michael said.

Lincoln went to him without arguing and climbed into bed beside him, gathering him to his chest like he needed him for warmth. Michael put his arm around his side and grabbed a handful of his shirt.

"I'm sorry," Lincoln said again.

Michael took a deep breath. "I'm sorry too. Broke my promise."

Lincoln smoothed a hand over Michael's head. His voice was soft. "I was so worried about you. I thought something terrible had happened."

"I'm okay," Michael said.

"But something went wrong."

"He wouldn't listen," Michael explained. Lincoln should understand that.

Lincoln's knuckles stroked his cheek. "But Alex stopped him?"

"Yes," Michael said, cheeks coloring. "I hate being embarrassed."

"I know, I know. Was Theodore drinking too?"

"Yeah."

"Alex?"

"Yeah."

"But neither..."

"What?"

"Touched you?"

"Like… Abruzzi’s goons?” he slurred.

“Yeah. Like them.”

“No,” Michael answered.

Lincoln took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm glad you're safe."

Michael buried his face in Lincoln’s chest. "Thanks to you."

Lincoln scoffed and hugged Michael tight. "Hardly. I shouldn't have let you go."

Michael closed his eyes and grumbled in response.

"Shouldn't have run by the prison either," he murmured.

Michael felt his senses fading.

"Shouldn't have hit Mom."

Michael let out a soft snore. Lincoln adjusted the blankets around them and tried to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12 (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, an update! I split this one into two "parts" because it got a little long. Tags have also been updated for past and future content in Flowers for Foxes. Thanks for your lovely comments! Enjoy!

Crash!

Michael's eyes flew open. Darkness greeted him and he looked up and realized his nose was buried in Lincoln's shirt. His head ached. Michael groaned and closed his eyes.

Crash! Bang! Thud!

Michael recoiled at the sounds and covered his ears. Guess they weren't kidding about hangover sensitivity.

Bang-bang-bang!

Lincoln shifted, looking at the door as he propped himself up on Michael's pillow.

"Open this door _now!"_

Michael glanced at Lincoln, worry widening his eyes. Lincoln gave his hand a squeeze and went to the door. 

"Linc," Michael called. He scrambled out of bed after him.

Lincoln opened the door to a fuming Christina, her curls wild and untamed. Her eye was black and swollen.

"I want you out," she said.

"What?" Lincoln blurted.

Christina grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the room. "Out," she repeated. "Your things are already downstairs."

Lincoln gazed down the staircase at his newly broken TV and clothes, comic books, model cars, even Mr. Fuzzy. He swallowed hard. "Mom, I'm sorry," he said.

Christina laughed bitterly. "Now you're sorry?"

"I was then too," Lincoln said, eyes downcast. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's too late," Christina replied. "You have five minutes to leave or I'll call the police."

Lincoln furrowed his brows. "What?"

Christina shook her head. "I'm not kidding. Get out."

"Cops aren't necessary," Lincoln said, taking a few steps down the stairs, "I'll go."

Michael left the safety of the doorway and snatched Lincoln's arm. Lincoln smiled at him despite the situation, eyes bright with hope.

"You wanna come with me?" he asked.

"Absolutely not," Christina barked. Michael whirled around and instantly regretted it as the world spun. Lincoln steadied him.

"Why not?" Michael demanded.

"You're my son. I need to make sure you're on the right path."

"Lincoln is your son, too," Michael argued, "What about his path?"

Something dark crossed over Christina's face. "Lincoln is not my son," she said.

Michael looked to Lincoln for some clue that he'd heard her wrong. Lincoln had the same confused look. Michael turned to glare at Christina. She was so angry she’d disown him? Pretend there were no family ties between them?

"What?" Lincoln breathed.

Christina folded her arms. "You're not my son. Biologically. You're not even Aldo's son."

They weren’t brothers? That was inconceivable.

"You're lying," Michael snapped.

Christina scoffed. "Believe what you will. If you choose him over me, you'll regret it."

Michael set his jaw and trotted down the stairs, picking up Lincoln's things as he went. Lincoln stood unmoving in the stairwell.

"C'mon, bro," Michael said, tossing a backpack over his shoulder.

Lincoln grabbed what he could and they loaded up the truck. Graciously, Christina allowed them two trips.

"Get everything you want to bring," Lincoln said lowly. "Dunno if you'll get another chance."

Michael got his school things, Walkman, and sketchbook, gazing longingly at all the comforting things in his room he couldn't take. He packed a suitcase with clothes and a smaller bag with bathroom supplies. Stormy kept trying to settle into the suitcase. There wasn’t a question of whether she was coming with. He gathered his paper cranes and tucked them in his shirt pocket, put Stormy and her things in a padded box, then met Lincoln downstairs with all his luggage.

"Ready?" Lincoln asked, voice gruff, expression sullen.

Michael nodded, though he wasn't sure.

They got in the truck and drove.

* * *

“Is this okay?” Lincoln asked.

Michael observed the new space. There was a worn couch in the family room and two medium-sized curtain-less windows on the far wall. Opposite that space was a kitchenette, with a fridge, a stove, and an oven. Michael tugged on the faucet handle and was glad when water poured out, though it didn’t get warm for about a minute. He ventured down the hallway and into the bathroom. Toilet, check. Shower and tub, check. One sink. They could make do.

Lincoln joined him as he surveyed the bedroom. There was just one, but two-bedroom apartments were more expensive. The room was small, with a sliding closet door that doubled as a mirror. A full-size bed occupied the corner by the window.

“The couch pulls out,” Lincoln said. “You can have the bed.”

Michael crawled onto the bed and propped himself on his side, then waved Lincoln over.

“Seriously, buddy. It’s yours,” Lincoln insisted.

Michael got up and grabbed Lincoln’s hand and dragged him to the bed. They laid side by side. There wasn’t much space left over.

“See? We both fit,” Michael said, turning so he could put his head on Lincoln’s chest. “I don’t mind sharing. Besides, pullout couches are crap.”

Lincoln sat up, forcing Michael to do the same. “Alright,” he said, “but don’t complain when you wake up all sweaty.”

Michael smiled, keeping an arm around Lincoln in a half-hug.

“You’re happy with the place?” Lincoln asked.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “We need to buy curtains, though.” He gestured to the window, where sunlight streamed in uninterrupted, along with noise from the parking lot. “I guess we could hang a sheet for now.”

Lincoln laughed, loud and snickering.

“What?” Michael asked, and shoved him off the bed when he didn’t answer. Lincoln got ahold of himself and snatched a fleece blanket from the bed, unfolding it as he replied, “Nothin’, Mikey. That’s just prison lingo.” He covered the window, keeping it tucked with his fingers. “I need something to hold it up. You bring any clothes pins? Book ends?”

“I’ll find something,” Michael said, red-faced. He knelt on the floor and unzipped his suitcase. “Shampoo bottle?”

“Sure,” Lincoln said, and held out his hand. He put it sideways on the ledge and a bottle of conditioner on the other end. The blanket stayed in place. Lincoln made jazz hands. “Ta daaa…”

Michael laughed lightly, his blush fading. He zipped up his suitcase and stood. “You’re sure you can afford this, Linc?” he asked.

“Yeah, buddy.”

“You don’t need me to get a job? Two incomes are better than one—”

Lincoln put his hands on Michael’s shoulders. “I’m telling you, Mikey, I got this. You focus on school.” He squeezed Michael’s shoulders. “I’m going to sign the lease. You check on Stormy.”

Stormy was in her box in the truck, just in case pets weren’t allowed. And they found out they weren’t, but Lincoln was confident they could sneak her in and she wouldn’t cause any disturbances. Michael found her crawling around the truck seats and eased her back into her box, covering it with the rag Lincoln kept in his truck before heading back to their new apartment. No one stopped him. He set the box in the bathroom and let the kitten loose as she mewed, but closed the door just in case. Michael filled her water bowl and took the food bowl out of her box. With a sigh, Michael realized they’d forgotten the litter box.

Lincoln came back with the signed paperwork. “Welcome to your new home,” he said, smile fading after a moment. Michael set the paperwork on the kitchen counter and hugged Lincoln.

“It’s not your fault, Linc,” he murmured.

Lincoln chuckled. “It is. It’s all my fault.”

Michael met his gaze. “We would’ve ended up here anyway. Whether you hit her or not.”

“Mike, that was terrible of me. You know that’s not… Not who I wanna be.”

Michael stroked his cheek, then the furrow between his brows. “It’s not you. I know you were defending me.”

Lincoln took his hand away from his face and held it, shadows cast across his eyes as he looked at his feet. Michael squeezed his hand.

“I’m sorry I was so stupid last night,” Michael said.

“Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?” Lincoln asked, looking at him suddenly. “About last night?”

Michael shook his head. “I’m fine. Just got freaked out.”

“Why?” he asked softly.

Michael turned away from him and ran his hand over the fuzzy fabric of their new-old couch. “Because he had me in the same position as that ogre from the prison.”

Lincoln came over and ran his fingertips over Michael’s short, soft hair.

“I felt like I couldn’t stop him. I was too drunk. You don’t have to say I told you so.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Lincoln replied. Michael faced him. “And Alex?” he asked.

“Was just trying to help. I don’t think Teddy realized I didn’t want to until Alex burst in.”

“I see.”

“You shouldn’t have broken up with him for me,” Michael said.

Lincoln paused his petting of Michael’s hair. “Are you kidding? You still want to be with him?”

Michael didn’t know what to say. “Well, no, but…”

Lincoln threw his hands in the air. “I dunno, Mikey. If you still like him after he humiliated you, I just…” He rubbed his head.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Michael said.

Lincoln held a finger at him. “Don’t make excuses for him. He knew you weren’t ready.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Michael muttered.

“You puked when you gave him a blowjob. If that doesn’t say _not ready_ , I don’t know what does.”

Michael’s face twisted and he pushed past Lincoln so he could lock himself in the bedroom. Lincoln got to the door too late.

“Mikey, I’m sorry,” he called through the door. “Please come out.”

Michael buried his face in his arms and didn’t answer.

“I know, I’m an ass. I’ll make it up to you. You want a new TV? Ice cream for breakfast?”

Michael wiped his face.

“Stormy’s out here. She wants pettings.”

“We need a litter box,” Michael mumbled.

“Huh? Come out, I can’t hear you.”

Michael snuffled and opened the door. “We forgot the litter box.”

Lincoln pulled him into his arms. “We’ll get a new one. Everything’s gonna be okay, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Wanna go grocery shopping?”

Michael smiled. “Sure.”

* * *

They loaded the cart with coffee, cereal, white bread, peanut butter, grape jelly, and a big pack of ramen, before realizing even with cheap food they’d need plasticware and paper plates, a teapot to boil water, pots and pans if they wanted sloppy joes or mac and cheese. They added those things to the cart, along with milk, sugar, eggs, and soda, chips and fruit gummies, hangars for their clothes, new sheets for the bed and pillows for both of them. Pain killers, paper towels, bath towels, toilet paper. They at least already had toothbrushes and toothpaste at the apartment. Lincoln added a black box to the cart.

“Condoms? Really?” Michael asked.

“Those are for you, my friend,” Lincoln replied, smirking. Michael scowled as heat rose in his cheeks. They finished their shopping and Lincoln tried to keep a straight face as their total blinked on the monitor. He took out his wallet and shelled out all the cash he had on him.

Michael watched nervously as the cashier counted it and gave Lincoln back a dollar and twenty-three cents as his change. They filled the truck bed with their groceries and drove home. Michael made the bed and put all their clothes away while Lincoln stacked the pantry with their goodies and made grilled cheese on the stove.

“Mikey! Food’s ready!”

Michael laughed and hung up Lincoln’s leather jacket before trotting over to the kitchen counter’s barstools. There was one more than they needed.

“You don’t have to shout,” Michael said, “It’s a small apartment.”

Lincoln handed him his plate and a bowl of hot tomato soup. “I suppose so,” he said, walking around the counter to join him. Michael dipped his grilled cheese in his soup and stuffed it in his mouth. “Mm…”

Lincoln bumped shoulders with him. “You’re a good actor,” he said.

“What?”

“I burned the grilled cheese and you’re still mm-ing.”

Michael gazed at the blackened bread. “Tastes fine to me.” He took another bite. “Yum.”

Lincoln took a bite of his and chased it with a spoonful of the tomato soup. “I’m not used to the stove,” he said. “It burned right away.”

Michael popped open his soda and took a gulp. “It’s alright, bro. You’ll get it.”

Lincoln chewed pensively. “You’re still gonna call me that?”

Michael turned to him. “Bro?”

Lincoln shrugged. Michael curled a hand around his arm.

“You are my brother. Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

Lincoln gave a laugh and met Michael’s baby blues. His smile widened and they finished their lunch together. Lincoln checked his watch and wiped his mouth on his sleeve as he stood up.

“I have to go to work,” he announced, and clapped a hand to Michael’s shoulder. “Do your homework.”

Michael smiled despite himself. “And go to bed on time too?”

“Yup. Nine o’clock.”

Michael scoffed and Lincoln winked. He grabbed his keys and wallet, saying, “Don’t leave the apartment, okay? Tomorrow we’ll check out what’s nearby.”

“In other words, you don’t know if we have any crazy neighbors.”

“Hope not. We’d have to pack everything up again and move.”

Michael groaned at the thought. Lincoln headed for the door.

“I’ll be home late,” he said. “Try not to worry.”

“I won’t, Linc. Go.”

Lincoln shut the door behind him and locked it. Michael sipped his soda and set it down, listening to Stormy’s claws click on the tiled floor of their kitchenette. Everything else was silence.

Michael went to the bedroom and dug his Walkman and headphones out of his suitcase, then his homework out of his backpack. He set up at the kitchen counter and plowed away until it was done. It was only 3 p.m.

Michael snacked on shark-shaped fruit gummies and dangled a piece of string he’d found over Stormy’s pink nose, grinning as she leapt and twisted for it. Eventually his arm got tired and he plugged Lincoln’s broken television into the wall of the family room, laying on the floor in front of it as cracked images illuminated the screen. Michael got out his sketchbook and drew his kitten as she slept curled in a tight ball. 4 p.m.

He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, surprised Lincoln hadn’t said anything about his booze breath. The shower warmed up eventually and Michael scrubbed off all the lingering thoughts of the day before. Tomorrow he’d need to be ready for anything.

Dinner time came around and Michael had a bowl of cereal with dried strawberries in it. As he brought the plastic spoon to his mouth, butt planted in the pill-covered couch, a dull thumping noise sounded above him. Michael quirked an eyebrow, flavor dying on his tongue as the thumping turned to creaking and loud thuds and moans.

“No,” Michael said, “No, no, no, we did not move into a sex apartment!”

An obnoxious laugh seemed to reply to him.

Michael took his cereal bowl and moved to the kitchen, then the bathroom, and finally settled into the bedroom with his back to the wall, but he could still hear the noises. The cereal was getting soggy. Michael muttered, “Gross,” and ate half of it before remembering his headphones might help with this problem. He listened to six songs and they were still going at it, so he washed his cereal bowl and went back to the bedroom, flopping on the blue sheets so he could nap with his music turned as loud as he could stand.

Little paws woke him up as they prodded his stomach, his headphones dislodged in his sleep. Michael was glad to discover the couple upstairs had finished and he could focus his attention on whatever he wanted again. He grabbed Stormy and petted her until she batted at him to stop. 7 p.m. How late was late? Michael hoped Lincoln would come home soon. He opened a window and watched as people drove in and out of the parking lot. A blonde woman waved at him and Michael gave a shy wave back. Her husband, as Michael deduced from the silver ring on his finger, glowered as he followed her to their apartment, momentarily turning his glare on Michael. Michael ducked underneath the blanket Lincoln had hung and shut the window.

Michael sighed and tore a page out of his sketchbook, making a crane once he’d torn the paper into a square, then another smaller crane with the leftover piece of paper, then a teeny-tiny crane with what was left. He put them on the bedside table before giving up and changing into his pajamas and going to sleep.

It was middle-of-the-night late when Lincoln came home. Although they’d neglected to buy an alarm clock and Michael couldn’t see his watch in the dark, he could tell by the grogginess he felt. He listened as Lincoln locked the front door and turned on the shower. A minute or two passed before the water stopped running. Lincoln dug through their closet noisily until he found a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt, changed, and slipped into bed beside Michael. Michael turned over and put an arm around him.

“Hey,” Lincoln said, “You’re awake.”

“You’re loud,” Michael replied.

“Sorry,” he said softly, smiling.

“You got us a sex apartment,” Michael muttered.

“What?”

“The people above us. Loud.”

Lincoln snorted and rubbed Michael’s arm. “You know the solution for that?”

“Tell them they’re intruding on virgin ears?” Michael suggested.

“Be loud back,” Lincoln replied.

“You shouldn’t have a problem,” Michael teased.

Lincoln laughed. “Shh. You have school tomorrow.”

Michael nuzzled under Lincoln’s chin and closed his eyes. _Everything’s gonna be okay…_

* * *

Beep-beep-beep-beep.

Michael grumbled and turned off his watch alarm. He snuggled closer to Lincoln, drawing a soft moan from him as he tangled their legs together. Michael froze, wide awake now, and carefully assessed Lincoln’s sleeping face and the hardness between his legs.

Slowly, Michael extricated himself from Lincoln. He moved to the side of the bed pressed against the wall, but not before Lincoln woke up and realized the predicament. His cheeks turned pink as he laughed awkwardly.

“Sorry, buddy. Happens sometimes.”

Michael nodded. Surely the needy snuggling hadn’t helped. Or rather, it _had_ helped.

Lincoln moved out from under the covers as he said, “I’m just gonna… shower.”

“Have fun,” Michael said, and instantly regretted it. Lincoln grabbed the nearest object and threw it at him. It happened to be the bundle of the dirty clothes he'd worn the night before. Michael caught them with a laugh and got out of bed to get dressed for school.

Lincoln drove him to school and told him he’d be back to pick him up after track. First and second hour passed without trouble. Michael took a deep breath and slipped into World History.

Theodore sat in his usual desk, although seats weren’t technically assigned. Michael took it as a good sign.

He sat down beside him and said, “Hi.”

Theodore didn’t look up from the textbook.

Michael cleared his throat. Maybe he wasn’t loud enough. “Hi, Theodore,” he tried again.

Theodore turned the page and ignored him. Michael’s heart sank.

“I’m sorry everything went bad the other night,” Michael said.

Theodore rummaged through his backpack and took out a pencil and notebook. He started taking notes, something Michael had never seen him do.

“Just because my brother said so, doesn’t mean we can’t talk,” Michael told him.

“Pretty,” Theodore snapped, without looking up from his work, “Maybe I don’t want to talk to you. Did you think of that?”

Michael fought the hurt in his chest and grabbed his things so he could sit in an empty desk at the back of the classroom.

* * *

Lunch was next and Michael rushed out of the classroom so he wouldn’t cross paths with Theodore. He sat at the table next to Sara and listened to her rant about an unfair teacher, amused by the way she spoke evenly despite her feelings.

“He never answers my questions directly. It’s always ‘read the textbook.’ The textbook is unreadable, in my opinion… It’s like another language.”

“Sorry I can’t help,” Sofia said, the only other person at the table for now, until the others grabbed their lunches. “I won’t take Geometry until next year.”

“Maybe I could help,” Michael piped up. Sara looked like she’d never heard better news.

“You would?”

“Yeah, I mean, math is kind of my forte.” Now he sounded like he was bragging. Luckily, Sara didn’t take it that way.

“So when do you want to come over?” she asked.

Michael blinked. “Come over?”

Sara smiled. “So you can be my study buddy. There’s another test coming up this Friday, so I need the help asap.”

“How does tomorrow sound?” Michael asked, feeling like he’d need the time to prepare.

“Perfect,” Sara declared, and wrote her number and address on a napkin in case Michael forgot. “Are you gonna get lunch?”

Michael realized he’d forgotten to pack one. Must have been the move messing with his brain. “Yeah,” he said.

“Cool,” Sara said, “Me too.”

Sofia rolled her eyes as they left the table. The lunch line had died down by now and they were able to get chicken quesadillas while they were still hot. Michael spotted Theodore at the front of the line for “Abruzzi’s Catering,” talking to the man himself. Michael forewent a Styrofoam cup of lemonade for a carton of chocolate milk and got in line to pay for his food, Sara at his side.

“You’re out of credit,” the lunch lady announced.

 Michael’s brows pinched. “I’ve only bought a couple lunches,” he said.

She shrugged. “There’s no longer a credit card attached to your account.” The lunch lady turned and handed him a paper bag—the dreaded sack lunch.

“I’ll pay for it,” Sara said, holding out a ten-dollar bill.

“Sara,” Michael protested.

The lunch lady took Sara’s money and handed back her change, waving them forward impatiently. Michael grabbed his tray and walked alongside Sara on their way to the table.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Sara smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear, her silver studs shining in the harsh cafeteria light. “It was the least I could do.”

Michael smiled back, but inwardly he was wondering how Christina could cut him off like that.

* * *

Fernando greeted Michael at the door when he arrived at their Spanish class. He wore a big grin and clapped his hands to Michael’s shoulders.

“You did it, Papi!” he declared, bringing Michael into a hug, “Maricruz and I are going steady!”

Michael smiled and pulled back. “Did she call you?” he asked.

Fernando leaned against the classroom door. “Better than that. She visited me at home while my parents were out—”

Michael raised his brows. “Let me guess, you had a _passionate_ night?”

Fernando punched Michael’s shoulder lightly. “Well, it was only a couple hours, but we had a lot to catch up on.”

“Ah,” Michael said, affection for his friend growing. Their classmates filed into the classroom every few seconds. Fernando lit up.

“Oh, but we definitely had sex. It was amazing,” he raved, “Nothin’ like makeup sex.”

Michael shook his head, grinning. “People can hear you, you know.”

Fernando tugged at the cross pendant around his neck as he smirked. “It’s better if people hear, I think. That way everyone knows Maricruz is mine. Hey, how was the party? Meet anyone interesting?”

“It wasn’t bad. I left early.”

“Why?” Fernando asked, quirking an angular brow.

Michael mustered a smile and said, “No reason. I’m just not into parties.”

The bell rang, letting them know they had one minute to get into the classroom. Fernando put his arm around him as they walked inside.

“Well, thank you, Papi. Couldn’t have gotten her back without you.”

Michael gave his side a squeeze and took his seat, a real smile on his lips.

* * *

Michael joined the boys on the track just after Alex gave his usual pep talk, a little late since he’d taken his time changing into his basketball shorts and athletic shirt. Michael didn’t spare any time giving him a once-over and ran as fast as he could, but he was no match for Alex, who caught up with him in no time and wasn't even winded. Michael made a face. Alex smiled a little and said, "Don't try to outrun your problems, kid.”

Michael scoffed. Alex slowed down and brought Michael with him, pinching a corner of his shirt as he stopped at the side of the track.

"Alex, what are you—"

Alex let go of him and said, "I just wanted to apologize. Is that alright?"

Michael studied him. "Yes."

Alex wore the uncomfortable smirk he sometimes got when he was in a self-deprecating mood. He stared off to the side, then at his feet. "I got really carried away the other night. Trying to play the hero, I guess. But I thought you were in trouble."

"I was," Michael said, without recoiling.

Alex glanced at him and back at his running shoes. "Anyway, I'm sorry. If I ruined your night."

Michael shook his head. "I ruined it myself."

Alex smiled at him. "Are we still friends?"

"Of course," Michael said, surprised he would think otherwise.

Alex nodded and took off running. He slowed down enough for Michael to run alongside him. He cleared his throat and asked, "How are you and T-Bag?"

"Not really your business, right?" Michael asked, smiling slightly.

Alex ducked his head and watched his feet hit the track. "Right. Sorry."

Michael shrugged and told him, "We're not talking."

Alex observed Michael's profile as they ran. "You want to talk to him," he stated.

"Yeah."

"About what happened the other night? Or getting back together?"

"The former," Michael said, "and maybe the latter if that doesn't make me an idiot."

Alex's lips parted and he thought a moment before saying, "He really charmed you, huh?"

Michael met his gaze shyly. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you were... Very upset at the party. Yet you're still holding onto the hope that he'll change."

They turned the corner of the track and Michael stopped for water, stilling the world for a moment so he could think. Alex had brought his own water bottle, not the cheap plastic kind you throw away. He squeezed it so the water shot out and dribbled down his chin. He noticed Michael smiling and raised the bottle above his head, letting it rain down over his hair. He shook his head and sent droplets flying into Michael's face.

"Hey!"

"Don't make me squirt this at you," Alex said, grinning as he pointed the bottle at him.

Michael held up his hands in surrender. "I don't know," he answered. "It was just too much at that moment. You know?"

Alex pressed the cap down on his water bottle. "I know," he said.

Michael believed him. He sat down on the bleachers. "I don't know when I'll be... ready," he said next, and regretted even starting the sentence. He barely knew Alex.

Alex sat beside him. "I have a friend who wasn't ready either."

"Yeah?" Michael said.

"And T-Bag was the same way with him. Pushy. Or eager. However you want to see it."

Michael waited for him to say more as he worried his bottom lip.

"Tweener wasn't having it, so T-Bag bullied him until he changed schools."

Michael rubbed his forehead. "Theodore told me he was mean."

"But he's not mean to you, is he?" Alex asked.

Michael met the questioning eyes, the long lashes pointed at him. "No, he's just eager. Like you said."

"He's never done anything like that before with you?"

Michael frowned. "That's not true."

Alex put a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe it's best you let him go."

Michael gazed at him, taking in his light blue eyes and gentle smile.

“You two lovebirds gonna run or not?”

They both glanced up to find a tough-looking boy—Michael thought he went by C-Note—with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as another boy stopped to say, “Yeah, come on, Captain. We’re doing all the hard work here.”

Alex stood up. “Yeah, of course you are. You want an invite to the next track meet?”

C-Note waved him off. “We’re just playin’ you, man. C’mon, RJ.” The two of them took off running and Alex smirked at Michael.

* * *

They were sweaty when they finished. Clothes stuck to skin, beads dripping down their backs. The stench in the boys’ locker room was too much to bear and Michael didn’t like the idea of contributing to it.

He grabbed a towel and located an empty shower just as Alex went to the boys’ bathroom to change. Michael tugged the curtain closed behind him, put his clothes off to the side, and rinsed off the layer of gross from his skin. He turned off the water and tied the towel around his waist, grabbing his running clothes before stepping out of the shower. Someone blocked his path.

“Hey, I heard something funny about you,” the boy said. He was tall and gangly and covered in freckles, at least from the waist up. Michael was pretty sure his name was Steve. C-Note’s lackey from earlier, RJ, joined his side, holding a towel around his neck.

“I’d love to hear it sometime,” Michael said, “but I’m late.”

Steve side-stepped and barred his exit. “Late?” He smirked at his friend. “Did you miss your period?”

“What? No. Move please.”

RJ blocked him as he made a move to leave. “See, it would make sense, if you’re pregnant with T-Bag’s baby.”

Michael’s face fell. He’d so desperately hoped no one would recall seeing him leave the party. Or maybe Theodore spread a rumor… No. He couldn’t be that cruel.

“You’re not gonna deny it, Scofield?” Steve jeered.

“Nothing happened,” he said.

“That’s not what I heard,” RJ countered. “I heard he fucked you so hard you cried, and Alex got his sloppy seconds.”

“Nothing happened,” Michael repeated, and tried to push past the two. They pushed him back into the shower. Michael refused to retreat and shoved Steve with all his strength. He knocked him over as the boy grabbed his towel, ripping it off as Michael stepped out into the locker room. The other boys all turned and stared. Michael’s eyes darted for something to cover himself with, but there was nothing. His clothes had dropped in the shower, still blocked by RJ.

“Ha! I guess he’s a boy after all,” Steve announced, grinning hideously from the floor.

RJ swung the towel around his neck against Michael’s ass. “Doesn’t mean T-Bag didn’t get some tail.”

Michael’s fight or flight response finally kicked in and he ran down the hallway, bumping into Alex before he’d made much headway.

“Michael,” Alex said, eyes wide. Steve and RJ cackled. Alex set his sights on them and strode towards them. “Get out,” he ordered.

“Alex, c’mon,” RJ said, snapping his towel, “We’re just having a little fun. I thought you’d be the first to join in.”

Alex snatched the towel from him. “Fun’s over. Off my team. Both of you.”

Steve scoffed. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I don’t want to see your faces again,” Alex warned.

Steve threw his bag over his shoulder and tossed one to RJ, who shook his head at Alex. The door shut behind them, leaving a room full of boys unusually silent. Alex grabbed a towel for Michael and his backpack, then walked him down the hallway as Michael tied the towel around his waist.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Michael declined to answer.

They arrived at the bathroom and Michael changed in a stall guarded by Alex. “Now I know how Sara felt,” Michael muttered from inside.

“What?” Alex asked, turning his head to the side.

“Nothing. Just something similar happened to a friend.”

“Yeah?”

Michael opened the door and Alex moved to the side. “I’m sorry,” Michael said, eyes downcast.

“Hey, it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve seen you naked,” Alex offered.

Michael laughed. “Two times too many, huh?”

“Or two times not enough,” he joked. Michael blushed. Alex cleared his throat. “Kidding. Don’t worry about it, Michael. You’re not the first to go streaking in the locker room.”

“You mean, unwillingly, or do some of them like to flaunt what they’ve got?”

Alex laughed. “Both. But that was before I was Captain.”

Michael sighed. Alex held out his arms. Michael accepted the hug.

“You’re a good friend, Alex,” he said, holding him lightly.

Alex smiled and separated himself from Michael. “So are you. Tell me if you need anything.”

Michael nodded and hitched his backpack over his shoulder. “Walk with me to my brother’s truck?”

“Of course.”

Alex led a quiet Michael to the front office and out into the courtyard, where Lincoln’s truck was purring. Michael thanked him and went around the truck to the driver’s side, gesturing for Lincoln to get out.

Lincoln turned off the engine and stepped down, shutting the door behind him. Michael hugged him so tight he couldn’t breathe.

“Mikey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, buddy.”

Michael shook his head. “I need to change schools.”

“What? Mikey, look at me. Tell me what happened.” Lincoln cupped his cheeks and looked him in the eye. “Somebody hurt you?”

Michael nodded and put his face in Lincoln’s shoulder. His ass still stung from the towel-whipping. Lincoln made Michael face him.

“How, buddy?”

Michael told him everything, even how Christina wasn’t paying for his lunches anymore.

“I’m gonna talk to your principal,” Lincoln said, letting go of Michael and marching up to the school. Michael dashed after him.

“Alex already kicked them off the team,” he blurted.

Lincoln whirled around and replied, “If you’re not safe at school, we have a problem. I’m gonna fix it.”

Michael sat outside the principal’s office as Lincoln talked to Ms. Amani, too embarrassed to participate. Lincoln stood and shook hands with the principal, joining Michael by putting his arm around him and walking him back to the truck.

“Those boys are going to be suspended as long as Alex or the other track members carbonate the story,” he said.

“You mean corroborate, Linc?” Michael asked, smiling.

Lincoln rubbed his side. “Yeah, that. As for your lunches, take money from the college fund if you need to. Otherwise, pack a couple sandwiches, okay?”

They reached the truck and Michael stopped Lincoln. “The college fund? But that’s your savings.”

“Our savings, Mikey.” Michael blinked. Lincoln opened the truck for him and they got inside and began the journey home.

“Are you okay?” Lincoln asked, glancing at him from the driver’s seat.

“Yeah,” Michael said, “It doesn’t hurt so much now.”

“Good,” Lincoln replied, and waited a beat. “What about mentally?”

Michael frowned at him. “Do you have to work?” he asked.

“Not if you need me,” he answered.

Michael bit his lip. “Go to work,” he decided. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Lincoln parked the truck in front of the apartment and unbuckled so he could lean over and hug Michael. “Sorry you’ve run into a lot of jerks lately,” he murmured.

Michael took a deep breath. Lincoln smelled like gasoline and sweat, but Michael didn’t mind.

“I’ll be home late. But I’ll bring you something special and we can talk, okay?”

Michael smiled as Lincoln patted his cheek. “Okay.” He grabbed his backpack and went inside.

* * *

The apartment was gloriously quiet that evening, but what Michael really wanted was a distraction. He played with Stormy and gave her fresh water, ate some potato chips as a snack, and did his homework, all before the sky had fallen. He lay in bed, watching nervously as headlights bled through a sliver of the window that the blanket didn't cover. Over and over, the beam crossed through the room, like a searchlight looking for runaways. Michael tossed and turned, eventually succumbing to exhaustion.

"Mike, wake up. You're dreaming. Wake up."

Lincoln shook him as Michael gasped, carrying his nightmare-induced panic into the real world. "Linc!" he cried.

Lincoln turned on the light in their room and sat on the bed, pulling Michael close. "Breathe," he advised. "It was just a dream."

Michael took a deep breath in and exhaled shakily, then repeated the process as Lincoln rubbed his back. "You wanna talk about it?" Lincoln asked.

Michael observed Lincoln's tired eyes and the grime he hadn't showered off yet. "I'm alright," he said.

"I know," Lincoln replied. "Dreams can't hurt you. But they sure as hell can keep you up at night."

Michael sighed and clutched a pillow to his chest as he shifted, sitting between Lincoln's legs, his back pressed to Lincoln's chest. "I was trapped in the locker room with the boys I told you about. Theodore showed up so he could laugh at me."

Lincoln nodded and smoothed his fingers over Michael's hair.

"Then Alex kicked me off the team because I cause so much trouble. Then I was in the auditorium without any clothes on, and the whole school was there."

"The naked-at-school dream. A classic," Lincoln joked.

Michael grimaced. Lincoln wrapped his arms around him.

"You don't have anything to be embarrassed about," he said.

"Except for the welt on my ass, right?"

"Well, you didn't have the welt when that kid pulled the towel off you."

"I was still naked."

"I'm trying to give you a compliment, Mikey."

Michael turned slightly to look at him and then burst into laughter. "Oh," he managed, and sarcastically at that, "Thanks, Linc. I'm sure I impressed them with my huge—"

Lincoln clamped a hand over his mouth and tickled his stomach at the same time. Michael squirmed and laughed and smacked Lincoln's hands away. Lincoln was smiling at him when he finally caught his breath. Michael remembered the imaginary crowd cackling at him.

"I don't think I can handle the school believing Theodore raped me," he whispered.

Lincoln offered his hands for Michael to fiddle with. "Honestly, I don't think the school knows who you are," he replied.

"They will," Michael said, "and Steve and RJ thought Alex was part of it, too."

"That's just two morons," Lincoln insisted.

"But a lot of people were at that party."

"Look, is Theodore the one saying these things? Because I wouldn't want to be the subject of a rumor like that."

"I don't know," Michael said sadly. "I hope not."

Lincoln closed his hands around Michael's. "I'd tell you to let it blow over, but I think you should talk to him. At least to get to the bottom of things."

Michael nodded. Lincoln let go of him and reached for the grocery bag on the nightstand, unveiling a king-sized candy bar. He gave it to Michael. "Your surprise."

"Al-right," Michael cheered, "Thank you."

Lincoln squeezed his shoulder and got up to shower. Michael settled under the covers and waited for him. 

Lincoln came back slightly wet but smelling good and curled up next to Michael, wrapping an arm around his stomach and pulling him snug against his chest. "Linc," Michael said.

Lincoln removed his arm. "Too much?"

"No," Michael said, and took his arm and put it back. "Just wanted to say I love you."

Lincoln smiled. "I love you too. Get some rest."

Michael slept peacefully.


	13. Chapter 12 (Part Two) / Chapter 13

The next day at school, Michael passed Theodore in the hallway before first hour started and caught his arm while he had the chance. Theodore wrenched out of his grip and kept walking. 

"Hey!" Michael called.

Theodore disappeared around the corner without looking back. Michael set his jaw and went to English. He knew Theodore wasn't going to talk to him in History either. He needed a new plan. Gretchen took her seat beside him, crossing her legs in skin-tight leather pants.

Mrs. Morgan stood in front of the class and asked everyone to take out a clean sheet of paper. "Today we're writing a letter to our civil servicemen. If you know a police officer, firefighter, or veteran, please dedicate the letter to them. Write your address at the top and follow the guidelines for a formal business letter..."

Michael wrote his new address in the upper right corner of the page and glanced at Gretchen as she clicked her pen on and off endlessly.

"Gretchen," he whispered.

"Michael," she said, turning to him with a straight face.

"Do you have access to all the papers we turn in?" he asked.

Gretchen's lips quirked up in the corner. "Yes."

"The letters, for instance?" Michael asked.

"Sure," she said.

Michael drummed his fingers on the desk. "Would it be possible to get someone's address? If they wrote it on the letter?"

Gretchen ran a hand through her shiny black hair. "It's possible. But what's in it for me, baby?"

Michael broke into a smile and forced it away as he glanced at the letter on his desk. "I don't know, what would you like?"

Gretchen smiled back, uncrossing her legs and leaning over. "You have an older brother, right?"

Michael narrowed his eyes. "Yes."

"The big guy who picks you up after school?"

Michael held his breath and said, "Yes."

"Get me a date with him and you'll have your address."

"Lincoln has a girlfriend," Michael blurted.

"Don't care," Gretchen replied.

"He's a little old for you," Michael said.

Gretchen held up a finger. "One date. That's my condition. Can you do it or not?"

Michael relented. Hopefully Lincoln didn't kill him for this. "I can," he said.

Gretchen smiled smugly. "Now whose address am I stealing?"

* * *

"You did what?" Lincoln demanded.

Michael cupped a hand to the telephone. "I promised a girl she could have a date with you for some information."

"What information? You sound like James Bond. A stupid James Bond. You know I could get in trouble for that? Dating a sixteen-year-old?"

"You don't have to sleep with her!" Michael responded a little too loudly into the borrowed classroom phone. He lowered his voice after smiling innocently at his Algebra teacher, who was organizing her bookshelf between classes. "Just take her to dinner or something."

"But Veronica—"

"Will understand it's for me. Are you two still together or...?"

Lincoln sighed into the phone. "She called me back but she's been cold. Says she doesn't know where she's going next semester, what state, the works."

"Maybe you can try long-distance."

"I dunno. Maybe she doesn't want that."

"I'm sorry, Linc. Do you think you can swing this date with Gretchen?"

Another pause. "Is she cute?" he asked.

"Cute? Maybe. Hot? Yes."

Lincoln chuckled. "Alright. Saturday should work. Tell her not to expect more than a movie and popcorn."

"Got it. Thanks."

"Welcome."

Michael hung up and went to World History.

* * *

At lunch Michael remembered his promise to tutor Sara for her math class and mentally adjusted his schedule for the day. Chemistry, Spanish, Architecture, Sara's house, Theodore's house, home. Sometime in between he'd need to meet up with Gretchen for the address. Someone waved a hand in front of his face.

Michael blinked and turned to Sara.

"Hi," she said softly. "Where'd you go?"

Michael realized all her friends, even Brad, were looking at him concerned. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he said.

"My uncle does that," Brad said, mouth full of peas, "right before he disappears for a week and writes a whole novel."

"A whore novel?" Katie teased.

Brad swallowed his peas. " _Whole_  novel. Like five hundred pages. You've probably seen his work."

Sara nudged Michael as he crinkled and uncrinkled the piece of foil he'd wrapped his sandwich in. Katie and Brad went back and forth about Benjamin Bellick's mystery novels. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Fine," Michael said, avoiding her eyes.

"I ask because I heard something that I hope isn't true."

Michael's hands stilled. Why wouldn't the rumor die? Sara held his hand and some of the sickness he felt eased.

"It's not true," he said, "None of it."

Sara was visibly relieved. "Good." She gave his hand a squeeze and made a goal with her fingers, gesturing for Michael to flick the foil ball at her. Michael laughed and made several goals before the foil flew into Brad's eye.

"Scofield!" Brad grimaced and chucked the foil back. It bounced off Michael's chest pathetically. 

"Nice shot, Brad," Katie said.

They all shared a laugh, save the great Benjamin Bellick's nephew.

* * *

Lincoln dropped Michael off at Sara's house with a lot of winking and teasing despite Michael's insistence he really was just there to help her study. Inside, Sara had set up her textbook and notes at the dinner table. Six plush chairs sat around the table and a candle was lit in the center of it, making the room smell like roses. Michael set his backpack on a chair as Sara asked, "Do you want something to drink?"

"Water, please," Michael said, smiling. Sara went to the kitchen and returned with an icy glass of water. Michael sipped it and thanked her, taking a seat next to hers as he scanned her notes. He liked the little question marks she had scattered throughout.

"Shall we start with the basics?" Michael asked.

"Yes, please," she said, putting her hair up in a pony. Michael took a breath and gazed at the first page of notes.

"Okay," he said. "So a point is a location in space. It looks like a dot."

Sara nodded.

"A line goes on forever in two directions. A line segment doesn't."

Sara nodded hesitantly.

"A plane has two dimensions. A space is three-dimensional. They both go on forever, like a line. Make sense?"

Sara bit her lip. "Can you go over all of that again?"

Michael smiled. "Sure, okay. Let's think of a point like... The tip of your nose." He booped it gently and Sara grinned. "It's one location in space, as long as you're not moving."

"Ah, okay."

"And a line..." Michael stood up and held out his arms to either side. "Imagine I have superpowers, and my arms can stretch out endlessly. They go through any obstacles. That's a line."

Sara scribbled down a note. "Stretchy powers, okay."

Michael held in a laugh. "So a line segment is my arms without powers. From here to here. Point A to point B."

"The points are the tips of your fingers?"

"Yes. Got it?"

"Got it."

Michael went to the wall of the dining room, where windows let in sunshine. "A plane is like a sheet of glass, but if the glass were really thin." He gestured with his arms and said, "and if the glass went out to infinity."

"I see," Sara said, writing down more notes.

Michael walked around the table. "A space is like a box. Say this room. You and I are the points inside. This is a point." He pointed to his backpack. "That's a point." The candle, flickering steadily. "Everything is a point. A space is a space with things inside."

Sara smiled at him. "I think I'm starting to get it now."

"Great, that's awesome," Michael said, and took his seat beside her again. "What else is going to be on the test?"

"Proofs, mostly," Sara said, taking out a worksheet. "I still haven't finished these ones."

Michael took one glance at the first proof and filled in the last part of the problem with the answer.

"You're supposed to start here," Sara said, pointing at the first blank line. 

Michael smiled shyly. "I did. In my head. Here." He filled in the other answers. Sara studied him.

"You did all of that in your head? That fast?"

"I told you math is my strong suit," Michael replied, trying to hold back a grin. Sara smiled back. 

"Did I get lucky with you or what?" she said.

Michael's face fell. "Huh?"

Sara pointed to the proof. "I'm lucky to have Mr. Smartypants as my tutor."

Michael relaxed. "Oh. Thanks."

Sara stood up and asked, "You want a snack? I made brownies."

"Sure."

Sara went to the kitchen and Michael followed her belatedly, unsure if he should. Every surface seemed to sparkle, from the marble counter to the chandelier. Sara cut out a brownie for Michael and said, "You'll have to guess my secret ingredient."

Michael took the plate from her and observed the brownie. "No walnuts that I can see," he began.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Taste it."

Michael scanned the counter for ingredients but only the measuring cups were left out. "Wait, this isn't one of those special brownies, right? Because my brother had a bad reaction to one once."

Sara crossed her arms. "You really think I'd give you a pot brownie?" she asked.

Michael's eyes flitted back to the brownie. "Well, no, but..."

"What?"

Michael smiled, surrendering. "Once when I was five, someone gave me candy that wasn't candy."

Sara leaned against the counter. "What was it?"

"Cold pills," Michael said. "I ate four of them before my mom caught me."

"Oh my gosh, you could have died!" Sara exclaimed, grabbing her brownie and sitting with him in the high-top chairs. "What happened?"

Michael shrugged. "We went to the hospital. I was really sick. The rest I don't remember so much."

Sara held his hand. "Michael, I can promise you there's nothing like that in the brownies. The secret ingredient is caramel."

Michael laughed lightly. "Sorry I doubted you."

“Don’t worry about it.”

They ate the brownies together and studied in chocolatey bliss.

* * *

Michael found his way to the address Gretchen recovered for him without Lincoln as his chauffeur. He walked up to a one-story house at the end of the street and rang the doorbell. He waited a few moments before knocking.

A man answered the door who Michael assumed to be Theodore's father. "Hi, is Theodore home?" he asked. 

Mr. Bagwell smiled. "Yes, he is. Would you like to come in?"

Michael nodded and thanked him.  Stepping inside brought him a waft of dusty air and unfamiliar territory. There was a raggedy recliner in the family room. Beer bottles littered the floor. Theodore's dad came back from the kitchen and offered him a bottle. Michael took it to be polite but didn't sip.

"What's your name, son?" he asked, wiping his mouth after a swig.

"Michael." He looked around once more. "You said Theodore was home?"

"Right, right. Follow me."

Michael followed a few feet behind him as they went down a hallway. To the left was a closed bedroom door. Mr. Bagwell knocked on it.

"Teddy, you've got a visitor," he said.

Theodore came to the door and opened it, a deathly pallor taking over his face the second he saw Michael. He took Michael's wrist and pulled him inside, blurting a "Thanks, Dad" before shutting the door behind them swiftly. He faced Michael, eyes wide.

"You need to leave," he said.

Michael frowned. "I came to apologize. I know I kinda led you on the other night."

Theodore held his shoulders. "Pretty, I'm serious. You need to leave now."

"Look, I get being mad, but isn't this a little much? Don't you like me?"

Theodore swiveled him so he was by the door. His grip on his shoulders hurt. "Of course I like you. But you need to leave."

Footsteps approached the door and Theodore told him, "Hide!"

"What?"

"Hide," Theodore hissed, pushing Michael to the floor and nudging him under the bed. "Don't come out."

There was a knock on the door. "Teddy?"

Theodore opened it and Michael watched Mr. Bagwell's socked feet come into the room.

"What happened to your friend?"

"He left," Theodore said.

"So soon? That's a shame."

The feet came closer, backing Theodore up to the bed. Michael held his breath.

"I thought we could have a little fun," Mr. Bagwell said.

"Can we wait till tomorrow? Please?"

"No, now," he said. There was a sound like a kiss. Michael was frozen with fear.

"Please, Daddy, I'm sick. I don't want you to get it."

"Don't make excuses, Teddy. What does the bible say?"

Theodore swallowed hard. "Honor thy father and mother."

"Honor me on your knees today."

Theodore knelt on the ugly carpet, his legs tucked under the bed. This couldn't be happening. Michael wouldn't let it. He moved to come out from under the bed and Theodore managed to jab him in the stomach with his foot. Michael cringed and steadied his breathing as Mr. Bagwell's pants puddled around his feet. Michael tried again and received another kick. A wallop sound followed and Theodore yelped.

"Stop being so jerky. Do it like I taught you."

Michael stayed still, not wanting Theodore to get hurt. _I could just yell,_  he thought,  _scream stop and he'd have to._

Mr. Bagwell moaned. Theodore coughed and sputtered and spat on the carpet.

It was too late. Too late already when Theodore's father walked in the room. Michael reached for Theodore's foot and rubbed a circle around the bone in his ankle over and over.

Theodore caught his breath as Mr. Bagwell pulled up his pants. "Make it last longer next time, alright?"

"Yes, sir," Theodore mumbled, still on his knees, shaky arms supporting him.

Mr. Bagwell walked away and shut the door behind him. Theodore collapsed in a sobbing heap. Michael shuffled out from under the bed and pulled him up into his arms.

"I told you to leave!" Theodore cried.

"Shh," Michael said, and glanced at the lock on the door.

"That don't matter," Theodore blurted, as if reading his mind, "He has the key."

Michael hugged him and wiped the tears and spit off his face. "I'm so sorry."

Theodore hid his face in Michael's neck. "Why didn't you leave?"

Michael soothed a hand through his hair as Theodore cried, separating it into tufts before he moved his fingertips in small circles.

"Now you know," he garbled, "the truth I couldn't tell you."

"Shh," Michael said, "It's alright. I've got you." He hugged him tighter. Theodore curled into him.

"You're the only one who knows," he said softly.

"I'm gonna help you," Michael announced.

Theodore gazed up at him, eyes wet and red. "How?"

Michael didn't know what steps to take, even who to tell first. "Come live with me."

Theodore took a harsh breath. "Can't," he said.

"Why not? My brother and I are renting a place," Michael replied.

Theodore's lips parted. "Oh, so that's true? I thought your mama was lyin' to me."

"What?"

"I was mad 'cause I went to apologize and she said you didn't live there no more."

Michael gave a slight chuckle and ran his thumb over Theodore's cheek, then used his knuckles. "Why can't you live with me?"

Theodore shook his head. "I gotta take care of my mama," he said.

"And live with this?" Michael asked, tipping his head towards the door.

Theodore closed his eyes for a moment. "If it's not me, it'll be her," he said.

Michael's breath caught in his throat and he pressed a kiss to Theodore's head. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Theodore collected himself and stood. "You should go," he said, and wiped his eyes with his palm.

"Teddy," Michael argued, reaching for him, Theodore’s back turned to him.

"Out. Before he comes back."

"I can't..." Michael began. Theodore advanced on him, looking like another person entirely.

"You wanna make me feel better, Pretty? Why don't you try spreadin’ your legs for me?"

Michael backed away from him, his back pressed to the wall.

"No?" Theodore asked, snarling in his face, "Then get out!"

Michael opened the bedroom door and raced through the house without looking back.

* * *

Jay's Auto Repair was on the corner of Riverside and Green Street, a mile from Fox River High and approximately the same distance from Theodore's house in the other direction. At this hour, the place was packed with as many broken down cars as it could handle. Michael didn't care if he was interrupting Lincoln's work—the information he had to pass on was more important than any oxidized battery or leaking gas tank. The only problem was Lincoln wasn't there.

"He's on break? When do you think he'll be back?" Michael asked.

Lincoln's boss, a man in grubby overalls shrugged as he lit a cigarette. Michael thought that was a little dangerous with the work being done not two feet from them. "He has thirty minutes to eat and shit or whatever he wants. You need something?"

Michael took in the surrounding machinery, grinding sounds, and sweaty bodies, looking for a sign of his brother. "No," he said, and walked away without waiting for a response.

Down the street across from Jay's Auto Repair and planted between a pharmacy and a smoke shop was Abruzzi's Pizzeria. Michael pushed open the glass door as a silver bell rang above him, the smell of fresh bread and tomatoes strong around him. He went to the front counter where a girl with long red nails was taking orders.

"Is John here?" he asked.

The girl took one look at him and clicked her nails against the counter. "You gonna order or what?"

"I need to speak with John," Michael urged.

She rolled her eyes and called "John!" over her shoulder. He dusted his hands on his apron as he approached the counter, muttering under his breath, "If you call me one more time, Marie—"

John looked up from his flour-dusted apron and saw Michael waiting for him. He slowed and furrowed a brow just slightly.

"I didn't expect you to be in trouble again so soon," he said.

Michael remembered his promise about Snaggletooth and the rest and shook his head. "It's not me. It's Theodore."

John glanced at Marie warily and said, "I've got—"

"Yeah, yeah, business to attend to. Whatever," she finished for him. John scoffed and tipped his head towards the kitchen. Michael followed him to the back of the restaurant and out the back door, where the dumpster stench was obnoxious, but listening ears nonexistent.

John crossed his arms. "What's this about Teddy?"

Michael's mouth ran dry. He had to formulate the words somehow. Michael rolled a piece of gravel under his shoe and took a deep breath. "His father's been forcing him to... To..."

John's face crumpled. "Say no more."

"You know?" Michael asked, meeting his eyes.

"I suspected. Teddy wouldn't tell me anything." John's brows pinched. "Does that mean he told you?"

The words weren't quick to manifest. "I saw," Michael said.

John's jaw dropped and he stepped closer. "You saw? What did you see?"

Michael shook his head, already feeling heat well in his eyes. The mysterious hickey on his neck, and the darkness under Theodore's eyes, the times he couldn't sit still in class all came rushing back to him. "He needs help, but he won't leave his mom," Michael explained.

John nodded, looking off into the distance as he thought. He cupped a hand to Michael's cheek and Michael tensed.

"I'll take care of it," he said, "Don't worry." He patted Michael's cheek and put a finger over his lips. "Don't tell anyone about what you told me, okay?"

Michael stepped back, unnerved by the intensity of John's gaze and the intimate touch. "Okay," he said.

"Swear?" he asked.

"I swear," Michael said, a pit forming in his stomach.

John smiled and opened the door for him. Michael wove back through the kitchen, fearing he told the wrong person. John clamped a hand to his shoulder before he could leave the restaurant.

"Hey, you need a ride home?" he asked.

"No, thank you," Michael replied quietly.

John tilted his head. "Kid, it’s almost dark, which means it’s almost feeding time for the loonies out there. Let me drive you home."

Michael reassessed and decided he'd take John over his goons. And the sooner he got home the sooner he'd see Lincoln.

"Okay," Michael said. "Thank you."

John gave his shoulder a squeeze and led him to his red sports car. Michael gave him absent-minded directions to the apartment and strode to the door when he saw Lincoln's truck parked in the lot. He found him stretched out on the couch, eyes closed. He looked a little pale. 

"Are you okay?" Michael asked.

Lincoln jolted awake and glanced at him, then relaxed again. "Hi, Mike," he said hoarsely.

"Your boss said you were on break," Michael said. 

Lincoln rubbed his head and groaned. "He musta mixed me up with Lenny again. I told him I was sick and he sent me home."

Michael knelt by the couch. "You must really be sick then," he stated.

Lincoln nodded and pouted his bottom lip. Michael smiled.

"Can I do something for you?" he asked.

"Water," Lincoln said. Michael got up to get it. "And a damp towel?"

Michael held his hand to Lincoln's forehead. "You're hot."

"I know," he said, smirking.

Michael fought a smile and asked, "Did you take any ibuprofen?"

Lincoln shook his head, eyes closed once more.

Michael went to the kitchen and wet a towel with cold water, grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and shook out two pills from the painkiller bottle. He brought the remedy to Lincoln and placed the towel on his forehead once he'd taken the pills and settled back against the armrest.

"Want me to fix the couch for you?" Michael asked.

"What, you don't want to sleep beside my germs?" Lincoln teased.

"Not exactly," Michael replied, smiling. Lincoln got up so Michael could pull out the couch and arrange the cushions and blankets for him. He got back under the covers with a groan.

"Everything hurts," he said.

Michael sat beside him and trailed his fingers over Lincoln's dark hair, damp where the towel had touched it. Lincoln made a contented sound.

"Try to rest," Michael said, "Let me know if you need anything."

"You don't have to take care of me," Lincoln argued. "You'll get sick."

Michael continued swirling his fingers through Lincoln's hair and down his neck to his shoulders, where tension liked to gather. "I don't mind," he whispered.

Lincoln hummed, the tone cracking in his sore throat. "Love you, Mikey."

"Love you too," Michael said. Lincoln peeked at him, remembering something.

"You stopped by my work?" he asked.

Michael nodded.

"You need me?"

"No," Michael decided. A lie. "I just missed you."

Lincoln smiled and adjusted his arm under his head. He was snoring in seconds. Michael stayed for a while, fingers moving absently as he contemplated his actions.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for comments and kudos! Enjoy another chapter!

Michael got up early the next morning to check on Lincoln. He lay in a tangle of blankets, mouth open and dry, his nose runny. Michael felt his forehead and brought him another damp rag. Lincoln moaned when the towel touched him.

"Linc," Michael called, "Wake up. I've got some painkillers for you."

Lincoln grumbled and pinched his eyes shut again. Michael propped him up with a pillow and coaxed the pills into his mouth. He wiped Lincoln's face with the towel and asked, "Do you want me to call in sick for you?"

Lincoln tried to breathe through his nose and decided his mouth was the better option. He nodded pitifully.

Michael ran a hand through Lincoln's hair and went to the phone on the wall. After a few tries, Lincoln's boss answered and Michael told him his brother was too sick to work. He hung up and made another call before he sat on the pullout bed beside Lincoln.

"Everything's taken care of," he said. 

"School," Lincoln muttered.

"I called them and pretended to be you," Michael replied, smirking. "Michael Scofield will be staying home sick today..."

Lincoln blinked and focused on him. He raised a weak finger and pointed at him. "That's bad, Mikey."

"Someone has to take care of you," Michael said.

"Yeah. Me," Lincoln said stubbornly. 

Michael pushed Lincoln's arm down and adjusted his blankets. "Rest," he ordered. "I'll buy some cold medicine and chicken noodle soup."

"Mikey," Lincoln protested.

Michael went to his room to get dressed.

"Be safe!" Lincoln called out.

Michael grabbed a few bills from the college fund and the keys to the apartment on his way out. "I will."

* * *

The couch became Lincoln's new home. He'd passed out again by the time Michael returned. Michael poked him to see if he was still alive.

Lincoln snorted, eyes going wide for a moment before he looked at Michael. "You're back," he mumbled.

Michael pulled out his souvenirs from a grocery bag one by one. "Look what I got," he said. "Tissues, and cough syrup, and two different kinds of soup."

"What kinds?"

"Chicken noodle and split pea."

"Yum."

"And..." Michael showed him a familiar teddy bear. "I brought Mr. Fuzzy from our room."

Lincoln smiled. "Thanks, Mike."

Michael arranged the respective items in the family room and in the kitchen as he asked, "You want anything for breakfast?"

Lincoln sat up with a groan. "Not much of an appetite. I might throw up."

Michael fixed himself coffee and instant oatmeal. "I shouldn't have bought food then."

Lincoln smiled when Michael joined him on the opposite end of the couch. "It's fine. You can have it if I don't want it."

Michael tucked his legs under Lincoln's blanket and spooned oatmeal into his mouth, swallowing it before speaking. "Okay. Go back to sleep if you want. You can't have the cold medicine for a couple hours still."

Lincoln rested his head on the back of the couch and flipped the towel on his forehead over. "Ugh, why?"

"I don't want you to overdose on acetaminophen."

Lincoln nodded, still out of it. "You want to be a doctor, Mikey?" he asked. 

Michael chuckled and sipped his coffee. "I don't know. I don't like hospitals."

Lincoln scoffed. "Me neither." Then, "What do you want to be?"

Michael chewed his oatmeal as he thought about it. "An astronaut."

Lincoln smiled at him. "You like Han Solo too much."

Michael fought a grin. "What do you want to be?" he asked. 

Lincoln glanced at him and looked away. Michael sat up and faced him straight on.

"C'mon, Linc. You could be anything."

Lincoln shook his head. " _You_  could be anything. Me..."

Michael nudged his leg under the blanket. "How about... A Secret Serviceman?" he suggested.

"Would I have to wear a tux?"

"Yes."

"No thanks."

Michael laughed. "Okay... An airplane pilot?"

"Sounds cool. Maybe."

"A teacher?"

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "You overestimate my patience."

Michael smiled and sipped his coffee. "It's there. Just not when you're dealing with jerks."

Lincoln tried to secretly pull the blanket more to his side of the couch.  "That is true."

Michael tugged it back. "I don't know, Linc. Want do you want?"

Lincoln settled for tucking the blanket under his feet. "I dunno. I like working with my hands. But I don't want to be a car mechanic all my life."

Michael nodded. "Favorite subject in high school?"

"P.E.," Lincoln said.

Michael laughed. "Seriously."

"P.E. and Art. That's how I learned to make your cranes."

Michael's smile mellowed into something sweeter. "Maybe you'd like to be a stay-at-home dad."

Lincoln's lips parted before he replied, "I think I'd like that. The dad part."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You want a lot of kids?"

"Depends on what kind of house I can afford."

"Say you have a mansion because you won the lottery."

Lincoln raised his brows. "Two or three, then. And your kids can play with mine in the big backyard. They'll have huge sleepovers."

Michael's cheeks went pink. "You think I'll have kids?"

Lincoln reached over and squeezed Michael's shoulder. "If you want, buddy."

"How? If I don't end up with a girl..."

"Adopt. Or foster. Or use a surrogate."

Michael felt warm in his chest. His voice was quiet. "Sometimes you think about my future more than I do, Linc."

Lincoln mustered a smile and asked, "Will you get me something to drink?"

"'Course." Michael stood up and Lincoln quickly stole the blanket. 

* * *

Lincoln felt minimally better with cold medicine working in his system. He napped on and off as Michael tried to study, his focus hijacked by thoughts of Theodore and what John might have done about his situation. It was the Alex predicament all over again. Theodore might despise him for telling someone what he had to suffer through. And how long had he been suffering? It made Michael want to cry.

He'd moved his notebooks and textbooks to the carpet of the family room so Lincoln could have his space. His brother lay on the couch, snoring loudly. Michael could wake him up and tell him what he'd witnessed. Guilt flooded his senses as he thought of everything Lincoln did for him on a daily basis. He'd worked so hard and late the past few days—it had probably made him sick. Who knew if Lincoln was taking breaks? Eating lunch and dinner? Michael decided to stay quiet, at least until Lincoln was better. Lincoln turned on his side, Mr. Fuzzy clutched to his chest. Michael smiled. His face fell when he heard a familiar noise above him. Creaking. Thumping. Moaning. If Michael didn't know better, he'd say the apartment was haunted.

He crawled over to Lincoln and shook his shoulder. Lincoln blinked groggily. "What, Mikey?"

"It's happening again," Michael said, and pointed to the ceiling. Lincoln looked up before he comprehended the odd sounds. He took a deep breath and howled like a wolf. Michael quirked an eyebrow and listened to see if there was any change in the obnoxious activity upstairs. Nothing. Lincoln howled again.

There was a pause.

"Ahwooooo!" Lincoln called. "Ahwooooooo!"

Michael joined him. "Ahwooo! Ahwooooo!"

There was a muffled, "Eh, knock it off!" above them.

"You first!" Lincoln yelled back. "Ahwooooo!"

Michael burst into laughter. "Ah—haha—woooo! Ahwooo! Hahaha..."

The couple upstairs gave up, the mood ruined. Michael couldn't stop laughing. Lincoln winked and went back to cuddling Mr. Fuzzy.

* * *

By the end of the day, Lincoln still felt like crap, but Michael succeeded in getting him to eat two meals and drink a lot of water. He went to bed by himself and tried not to worry about going to school the next day.

Morning came and Michael woke up Lincoln again. To his dismay, Lincoln planned to drop him off at school and then go to work.

"Take it easy, okay?" Michael said. "Don't sneeze and drive."

"You got it, boss," Lincoln joked.

Michael made a face and got out of the truck in the drop-off line. He had a few minutes before class and took a detour to use the bathroom. Michael zipped up his pants, about to leave the restroom when someone slammed him against the wall.

"Theodore," Michael squeaked.

Theodore's face was twisted in a formidable grimace. "Who did you tell?"

Michael sputtered, "I— Teddy, please—"

Theodore shoved him. "I know you told! Was it John? Tell me!"

Michael caught Theodore's hands before they could attack him again. "Yes, it was John—"

Theodore launched himself at Michael and locked him in a kiss. Michael's brain flipped upside down. He jerked away.

"I thought you were angry at me," he said all at once.

Theodore pushed him into a bathroom stall and slammed the door behind him. He slid the lock into place neatly and tugged Michael down to him, his kisses fervent and wet. Michael pulled away again, his hands on Theodore's shoulders. 

"Teddy, you have to explain," he said.

Theodore licked his lips, eyes glossy. "Just let me kiss you, okay? M'not askin' for anythin' else."

Michael cupped his cheeks and stroked them. "Tell me what happened first."

Theodore looked at his feet and took a breath. "Someone beat up my daddy. So he can't... At least for a while."

Michael's lips parted as he tried to figure out how to react. "That's... great, Teddy."

Theodore mustered a smile. "You told John?"

Michael nodded and ran his fingers through Theodore's hair. Theodore closed his eyes and Michael pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his cheek, then his lips. Arms wrapped around him. Michael kissed him till his face went numb. Till Theodore was moaning for something more.

Michael picked him up so his legs were hitched around his waist, his back pressed to the wall. Theodore grinded against him and murmured, "Pretty, Pretty, Pretty..."

"Teddy," Michael breathed, grabbing a fistful of his hair and kissing his neck.

Theodore whined and pleaded, "Again, again, again!"

Michael smiled and nuzzled under his chin, finding a delicate spot to bring into his mouth and drag his teeth over.

"Oh,  _Pretty_ —"

"Shh," Michael advised, and rutted against him as he found his lips again. Theodore gripped his shoulders like he had a fear of falling, his teeth biting through Michael's bottom lip.

Michael fumbled and almost dropped him as he blurted, "Ouch!"

Theodore found his footing anyway and raced for a bundle of toilet paper.  He stuffed it down his pants and turned to Michael with a sly grin. "I think I caught most of it."

Michael laughed and accepted another bundle for his bleeding lip. Theodore pressed a hand to Michael's zipper and raised his brows. Michael nodded.

The bell rang and Michael tensed.

"Class can wait," Theodore said, rubbing him through his jeans.

"I shouldn't," Michael said.

"You deserve it, Pretty. But I understand if you don't want to."

"You do?" Michael asked.

Theodore draped his arms around him and smiled. "Yeah. I know I scare you sometimes."

It was true, Michael thought. But right now wasn't one of those times. He wanted to feel what Theodore felt.

"Go for it," he said, a smile hurting his split lip. He dabbed it once or twice before he ceased to remember the injury at all. Theodore unzipped him teasingly and slipped his hand between boxers and bare skin. Michael gasped.

"First time, Pretty?" Theodore whispered, smirking devilishly.

"Mmm..."

Theodore watched as he stroked him in earnest, praising him between languid kisses along his neck. "You have such a lovely color... And look how big you are, my, my..."

Michael knew it was just flattery, but from Theodore's lips it sent his thoughts racing and heart pumping. "Thanks," he murmured.

Theodore smiled. "Ain't done yet." He gave his cock a twist.

Michael bit his bloody lip to hold in a moan. "Thanks for the compliment," he managed, voice hushed.

Theodore burst into laughter. "Pretty, you are adorable. You don't have to say thank you for every little thing. Might take you out of the mood."

Michael nodded, cheeks a bright red as Theodore's hand slipped lower and teased a delicate stripe of skin. Someone walked into the bathroom, his keys jangling in his pocket. Michael and Theodore froze in their bathroom stall as the other boy unzipped his pants.

The sound of pee splashing into a urinal sent Michael into a fit of giggles that Theodore had to muffle under his hand. He raised a finger to his lips and slowly reached for Michael's cock again, not waiting for the other boy to leave. Michael tried not to make a sound, his mouth still clamped shut by Theodore and body shaking with the effort to stay silent. Theodore tipped his chin up and leaned in close to whisper something by his ear.

"Show me your spunk, Pretty."

Michael's eyes fluttered shut and he gasped for air under Theodore's palm.

"Oh ho, there it is. Good job, Pretty! Look at this..."

Theodore showed him the mess on his hand. Michael smirked for a second and let his head rest against the wall, panting quietly.

Theodore cleaned him up carefully, the whole time whispering sweet nothings to Michael. He tossed a wad of toilet paper away as Michael reached for him and hugged him tight. Theodore patted his back.

"Don't say thanks," he taunted.

"Thanks," Michael said anyway, holding a grin for a second before trying to steady his breathing again.

"Don't say you love me," Theodore warned.

Michael hugged him tighter. "What if I did? Just a little?"

Theodore kissed his ear. "Then, Pretty, I'd say we're both in for it."

Michael smiled despite his conflicting feelings and asked, "Did you plan to attack me with kisses when you saw me? Or just attack me?"

Theodore smiled slightly. "Just attack you."

Michael raised his brows. Theodore cleared his throat.

"With my daddy all beat up, he can't go to work. No work, no money, no food."

"Teddy, I had no idea—"

"Don't worry about it. It was John."

"I'll bring you food if you need it," Michael offered.

Theodore caressed his cheek. "S'okay. I get free school lunches anyway."

"Promise me you'll tell me if you're hungry."

Theodore traced Michael's hairline. "Promise."

Michael smiled. "Should we get to class?"

"Whatever you want, Pretty."

Michael thought about it and tucked Theodore's head under his chin. "A few more minutes."

* * *

Michael's first two classes floated by like a dream. In World History, Michael could hardly look at Theodore without blushing. Lunchtime came around. While the two of them usually ate lunch inside the cafeteria, there was a cool breeze and a hint of sunshine that made the uncomfortable tables and chairs outside more desirable. Michael's decision became clearer when the student council brought out a big rope with handles, a parachute, and kickballs that he'd loved playing with at recess in elementary school. Some eager students raced for the colorful rubber balls while others were more hesitant to show their youthful side.

"Tug of war! We need teams for tug of war!" a petite blonde girl announced.

"You gonna join, Pretty?" Theodore asked, chomping down on a ham sandwich. "Show me how strong you are?"

Michael smiled, cheeks warming. "Maybe I'll catch the next round."

Theodore waved him over to sit beside him so they could watch the game. They'd gone with the classic girls versus boys rules. Michael spotted Fernando grabbing the rope and posing for a picture before the round started. Alex took up the very last handle at the end of the rope, grinning as his buddies gave him encouraging slaps on the back. Sara and Sheba had taken the reigns on the girls' side, followed by a posse of cheerleaders, softball players, and band kids. The petite blonde girl waved a flag to let the tugging begin.

The boys gained a foot of rope before the girls wrenched it back. Feet dug into the grass. The rope went left, then right, right, right—

Sensing they were losing, the girls let go and sent the boys tripping backwards on top of one another. Alex gave a scream of pain that rose above all other indignant squawks.

Time stopped, and then Sara urged the boys off Alex and knelt by him, asking, "Are you alright?"

Alex wrapped an arm around his middle, face twisted in agony.

"My mom was a doctor," Sara said. "If you let me look, I can help—" She started to reach for his shirt.

"Don't touch me!"

Sara recoiled in shock as Michael ran up to them. "Hey, Alex," he said.

Alex tried to smile and said, "Hi, Michael."

"Do you want me to get the nurse?" Sara asked. "Can you move?"

"Of course I can move," Alex snapped, letting Michael help him up. Michael mouthed, "Sorry," to Sara and guided a limping track captain into the cafeteria bathroom.

The door shut behind them and Michael blocked it with a trash can, if only for false-security's sake. He turned to Alex and the nervous sweat dripping down his face.

"Alex," he said, "Where are you hurt?"

"I'm..."

Michael cut him off with a look. He was most definitely not  _fine_.

Alex rubbed his side where he still held it. "And my ankle, I think. Probably just twisted, like yours."

Michael nodded. "Let's look at your side."

Alex shook his head. Michael held his hand.

"I'm not judging you, okay? Neither was Sara."

"I know," Alex moaned. "Was I a jerk?"

"You can apologize later," Michael said. "Let's take care of your injuries for now."

Alex stopped mid-sigh and cringed. Slowly, he lifted up his shirt and revealed a mess of bruises unlike any Michael had seen before. Michael held a gentle hand to Alex's rib cage and pressed very delicately. Alex looked away, trying to hold in a whine. Michael had him turn around, then face him again.

"Two things," Michael decided. "You have to see a doctor. Your ribs might be broken."

Alex took shallow breaths. "And two?"

"You need to take it easy, and tell your friends to be more gentle with you. No friendly slaps or shoves."

"That's three things, I think," Alex said, smirking lopsidedly. Michael picked a piece of grass out of his hair.

"Please, Alex," he whispered. "Doctor, then rest. It hurts to see you hurt."

Alex's smile softened and he studied Michael until Michael couldn't hold the gaze without his heart pitter-pattering. Alex leaned in and Michael pulled back, making Alex freeze.

"I'm with Theodore," Michael blurted, hoping the statement conveyed an apology for putting that hurt look on Alex's face.

Alex recovered quickly and said, "Sorry."

Michael offered a smile and said, "It's okay. I care about you, too."

Alex chuckled. "You're sweet, Michael."

Michael frowned. "Is that not enough?"

"It's fine, kid. I like you, you like me, but we're not together. Perfectly normal."

Michael chewed his lip. "Are you mad?"

Alex snapped out of his funk and replied, "No. I'm frustrated for getting ahead of myself. Not mad at you."

Michael nodded hesitantly.

"Hey, let's forget I tried to kiss you, okay? Let's just say I said 'thank you' and was grateful for your friendship," Alex proposed.

Michael's lips quirked up in one corner. "Are you? Grateful?"

Alex smiled shyly. "Very much so."

Michael took a breath and said, "Deal." He helped Alex back to his table, silently warning Theodore not to protest. He didn't.

Michael went to Sara and asked, "Will you get the nurse?"

"Yeah." She turned for the nurse's office.

"Alex says he's sorry," Michael added.

Sara gave him a nod and jogged across the field, disappearing into an office building. Michael took a seat beside Alex. "How are you holding up?" he asked.

Alex peeked at him and closed his eyes in a grimace. "Alright."

"You want to hold my hand?"

"Pretty," Theodore whispered.

Michael offered his hand and Alex squeezed it tight.

Theodore tried a different tactic, succumbing to his curiosity. "What's wrong?" he asked. "What'd you break?"

"A rib. Or ribs. Can't tell," Alex told him.

"You must have delicate bones," Theodore said.

Alex frowned and avoided his gaze. Michael held his hand with both of his. A tear slid down Alex's cheek despite his best efforts.

Theodore wiped it for him, surprising both the other boys.

"Perhaps I've been too harsh," he said. "Maybe you have strong bones. They just took a long time to break."

Alex glanced at him and nodded. Theodore smiled and stood, saying, "I'll find out what's taking America's Sweetheart so long." He left and Michael smoothed his fingers over Alex's hand.

"See? He's not so bad," Michael told him.

Alex let out a laugh and quickly held his side. He regained his breathing and replied softly, "He knows what I'm going through."

"He does?"

"I can see it in his eyes. I didn't notice till now."

Michael squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry if I've been ignorant."

"You haven't been. Don't wish you could understand better."

"Alex?"

"Yeah?"

Michael thought about telling him about his mom, but somehow he thought it was wrong to equate physical abuse with... What had Lincoln called it? Emotional, mental abuse? And his dad—he was dead now, but before—home life hadn't been pretty. Most of the time the man hadn't been home. When he was, he'd fight with Christina. Sometimes he'd take him and Lincoln somewhere, swearing he was leaving Christina for good, and then dump them with her a week later. None of it made sense. It sent Michael's mind into thoughts of government conspiracy when he was younger. If his dad was a spy, all of it was for their own protection, and not a result of his selfishness.

"Michael?"

"Sorry," Michael blurted. "I lost my train of thought."

Alex rubbed Michael's hand with his thumb. "It's alright."

Sara and Theodore came back with the nurse, who called for an ambulance despite Alex arguing otherwise.

* * *

School ended, and without Alex there Michael doubted track practice would run like usual. Frankly, he didn't want to face Steve and RJ without Alex around. The two had been kicked off the team officially, but Michael thought it best to be cautious in case they had revenge on the brain. He waited outside the front office for Lincoln to pick him up.

But Lincoln didn't come.

Michael had taken a seat on the curb long before he decided Lincoln wasn't going to show. Maybe he just forgot with his foggy-cold-medicine-brain. Though it wasn't like him. Michael borrowed the front office's phone and called Jay's Auto Repair.

"Yeah, Lenny's right here, changing a tire."

"Not Lenny," Michael enunciated, "Lincoln. Is Lincoln there?"

"That's what I said, Lincoln's changing a tire. What do you want, kid? Don't got all day to chat with you."

"I want to know if my brother, Lincoln Burrows, six foot two with black hair and blue-green eyes is there."

"Oh, no. He's at the hospital."

"What? What happened?" Michael urged.

"Idiot crashed one of my customer's cars."

Michael's heart stopped. "He was in a car crash?"

"That's what I said. Knocked himself right out. Might be a concussion. The paramedics didn't say."

"Did they say anything?"

"No, kid. Just carted him off to Knight’s Hospital.”

Michael's eyes darted back and forth as his thoughts raced. He said, "Thank you," and hung up. Michael left the school campus and got on a public bus. The ride was bumpy and nauseating and Michael wished it would quit making so many stops and filling up with strangers each time.

He got off at the corner of the hospital and marched into the emergency department. "I'm here for Lincoln Burrows," he told the guard at the visitor's desk. The man gave him directions down several twists and turns and finally Michael found Lincoln's room. He walked inside. 

"Mikey," Lincoln called happily from the hospital bed. He held an ice pack to his forehead. Michael sat beside him and reached for Lincoln's hand before noticing it was wrapped in bandages.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Lincoln buzzed his lips. "Pffft, I'm fine. Few bumps here and there. It's not a concussion."

"Did the doctor say that?"

"Not yet. They're keeping me under surveillance for a little while. But I can tell—it's not like when I got tackled senior year."

Michael gave a sigh of relief. "And your hand?"

"Dislocated fingers. They'll be fine."

Michael met Lincoln's eyes. "What happened, Linc?"

Lincoln rubbed his runny nose. "I was moving a Lexus out of the shop when someone came flying through the parking lot. I didn't brake fast enough."

"Sounds like it was their fault," Michael proposed.

"It should be," Lincoln said softly, "but the boss's policy is that any damage done to a car while it's getting repaired is the shop's responsibility. Meaning mine."

"How much damage?" Michael asked.

"A lot. I should be more beat up than this."

Michael held onto Lincoln's wrist. "I'm glad you aren't. And being sick on top of it. Ugh."

Lincoln mustered a smile, then let it fade. "I have to be honest, Mikey..."

Michael leaned closer. "Yeah?"

"We won't be able to pay rent. The boss plans to take the money out of my pay checks."

Michael frowned. "Sounds wrong."

"It's in my contract. The bastard," Lincoln replied.

Michael rubbed his thumb back and forth over Lincoln's wrist. "How much is rent?"

"Five hundred."

"Electricity, water?"

"A hundred."

"Your medical bill?"

Lincoln chuckled. "I guess we'll find out."

Michael stashed the numbers away and asked, "You want anything to eat?"

Lincoln licked his lips and said, "Meatloaf and mashed potatoes?"

Michael smiled. "I'll see if they have it." He stood, then asked, "Did your boss call Mom? She should be your emergency contact."

"He called her," Lincoln said nonchalantly.

Obviously, she wasn't there.

Michael patted Lincoln's shoulder and went to find the cafeteria. He passed a couple doctors whispering to each other.

"It's protocol to call the police in this situation," one said.

"Isn't he Officer Mahone's kid?" said the other.

"Would you recommend CPS instead?"

"Whoa, wait. Did you ask him how he got the old fractures first? What if he was in a car accident when he was younger?" the other asked.

"He looks like he got hit by a truck today," the first said with a touch of anger. "But he wouldn't say," she finished.

Michael slipped away and tried to casually check the rooms in that corridor for his friend. He heard his voice coming from Room 201. Michael knocked on the open door and entered when Alex called, "Come in."

"Michael," Alex said, smiling as he set a telephone back in its cradle. "You came to visit."

His green hospital gown was loose and Michael tried not to stare at the little bit of collarbone it exposed. He smiled back and replied, "If it's alright."

"Of course it is! Come, sit." Alex pointed to the chair in the corner. Michael set it by his bedside and offered his hand for Alex to hold once more.

"How's the hospital treating you?" Michael asked lightly.

"So good, Michael. See this IV?"

Michael nodded, following the needle in Alex's other hand up to a hanging bag of medicine.

"Painkillers," Alex said, grinning loopily. "I'm in heaven."

Michael couldn't help but be happy for him, even if it was only temporary. "What's the diagnosis?" he asked.

"Fractured ribs. I'm supposed to breathe deeply even if it hurts. Luckily I can't feel anything right now."

Michael nodded and squeezed his hand.

"But I did feel that," Alex informed him, voice soft. Michael blushed. "Thanks for coming," Alex added.

"I should have brought flowers," Michael said. "Or sour gummy worms. You like those, right? You had them when we watched the rain from the gym entrance."

"You remembered," Alex answered, smiling bashfully.

"Maybe I can get you some after all," Michael decided. His trip to the cafeteria was overdue. "Is someone coming to see you soon? Your mom?"

"As soon as she can get away from work," Alex replied.

"Okay," Michael said. He stood and hovered. "A hug would hurt, wouldn't it?" he asked.

"A kiss wouldn't," Alex suggested.

Michael cupped a hand to his cheek and slowly bent to kiss his forehead. When he pulled away Alex had a dreamy look on his face.

"I'll try to see you again before you leave," Michael told him.

Alex tried to tamp down his smile. "Okay."

Michael went to the cafeteria and bought Lincoln dinner. Or lunch, depending on when he'd last eaten. He found generic sour gummies by the checkout stand and snatched a bag of them before paying for the meal. He brought Lincoln his food first.

"Did they have it?" Lincoln asked when Michael walked in with a tray.

"They did," Michael announced, unveiling the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and pudding cup inside the Styrofoam container. He started setting up Lincoln's food on a rolling table with a pullout tray.

"I can do that," Lincoln said.

"Sure? There's no broken bones you didn't tell me about?" Michael asked.

"No broken bones," Lincoln swore. Michael finished arranging Lincoln's food anyway and moved the table over his lap.

"Thanks, Mikey," Lincoln said, smiling.

"I told you I'd take care of you," Michael assured him.

Lincoln's cheeks colored, but whether he was warm from fever or embarrassment Michael wasn't sure.

"I'll be right back," Michael said, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Lincoln asked, mouth full of potatoes.

Michael hung on the doorframe. "Alex is just down the hall."

Realization flickered like guilt on his face. "Is he alright?"

"He'll recover," Michael said, "but it's not pretty."

Lincoln scoffed. "Kid shouldn't have to go through that."

"I know. Be back in a few."

"'Kay."

Michael trotted down the hall with the gummy worms hidden in his hoodie pocket, along with both hands. He found Alex asleep with his mom at his side. She startled when he came in the room.

"Uh, hi," Michael said, "I'm a friend of Alex's."

"Michael?" Mrs. Mahone asked.

He nodded.

She smiled briefly and gestured for Michael to sit beside her. He sat on the edge of Alex's bed, careful not to disturb him.

"Alex has told me a lot about you," she whispered.

Michael glanced at Alex and asked, "Really?"

"Mhm. He tells me you're a creative genius."

Michael laughed awkwardly. "Not sure that's true."

Mrs. Mahone reached over to smooth Alex's hair out of his eyes. "My poor baby. Were the kids at school really rough with him?"

Michael furrowed his brows. He decided to be honest, even if he was uncovering a lie Alex told. "Not really. He was already hurt."

She met Michael's eyes and turned back to Alex. She shook his shoulder gently, and Alex groaned awake. Mrs. Mahone stroked his face.

"Hi, honey."

"Hi, Mom." He smiled. "Michael."

"I brought your gummy worms," Michael said, taking the candy bag out of his pocket and handing it to Alex.

"Yes! Thank you." He opened the bag and popped one in his mouth. His face twisted at the sour taste. "Delicious," he declared.

Mrs. Mahone smiled at Michael. "Could you leave us for a minute? Just so we can talk. Then you can come right back."

"Sure." Michael stood and stuffed his hands back in his hoodie before leaving.

"Thank you, Michael," called Mrs. Mahone.

Michael shuffled in the hallway until Mrs. Mahone waved him back to the room. "I'm going to grab a bite," she said to him in the doorway. "Want anything?"

"No, thank you," Michael said.

"Okay. Thank you for keeping him company," she said, and Michael noticed her tired eyes seemingly pleading with him.

"Of course."

She nodded and left swiftly. Michael turned the corner into the room and saw Alex wiping his eyes.

"Alex," he called, sitting at the edge of his bed again, "What's wrong?"

"She said—" He took a sharp breath and held his side. "She said I need to stop provoking Dad, because he might lose his job if someone finds out, and then we'll be on the streets." Alex closed his eyes tightly. "Except I didn't do anything this time. Dad's boss reprimanded him and he was mad. He took it out on me." His tears came back anew. "Michael, I can't be tough anymore. Even Mom blames me."

Michael held his hand and replied, "Your mom doesn't blame you. She doesn't want to see you hurt anymore."

Alex wiped his face and nodded.

"I admire you," Michael told him.

"You do?"

"You're strong and tough and you stand up for what's right. What's not to admire?"

Alex gave a little laugh.

"So if you need someone to be vulnerable around... I'm here."

"I wouldn't ask for anyone else," Alex said.

Michael avoided his gaze and smiled.

"Hey, wanna watch a movie?" Alex asked, tipping his head towards the TV opposite the bed.

"Sure," Michael answered. He took the remote and asked, "What do you feel like?"

"I don't know. Hey, why don't you sit here?" Alex scooted over on the bed and patted beside him. "It's comfier."

"As long as I'm not squishing you," Michael said.

"You won't. Come here."

Michael settled beside him and beamed at the grin it put on Alex's face. He panned through the channels until Alex blurted, "Stop! What's this one?"

Michael peered at the actors on screen. "Dirty Harry. I think you'd like it."

They watched as Inspector Harry Callahan shot the bank robbers like a new-age cowboy, marched across the street with a bleeding leg, and delivered an iconic speech in his husky voice.

"God," Alex said, resting his head on Michael's shoulder, "That was amazing."

Michael smiled. The movie went to commercial break and Alex took Michael's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

Michael warmed. "Anytime."

Mrs. Mahone came back and Michael said an embarrassed goodbye to Alex, but his mom didn't seem to care that they'd snuggled up together. Michael found Lincoln snoring in his hospital bed, his lunch plate scraped dry. He sat on the side of his bed and squeezed his shoulder.

"What?" Lincoln grumbled, blinking groggily.

"Are you getting released soon?" Michael asked.

"Yeah. Doc said no concussion. But my truck's at the shop."

"We can take a bus and I'll drive us home."

"Sure? You're a little rusty."

"You've got a bump on your head the size of a golf ball."

Lincoln groaned. "How will I woo Veronica like this?"

Michael held a tissue to Lincoln's snotty nose. "You won't. But I bet if you called her she'd come check on you."

"That's a good idea, Mike. You make sure the apartment's clean, alright?"

"Alright. Where are your things?"

Michael gathered Lincoln's personal belongings and got them home safely. After everything, Lincoln was too exhausted for guests, which left the cooking and caring up to Michael. He tucked him in to the pullout couch and went to bed, worried about his brother, his friend, his boyfriend, school the next day, rent due in a few weeks...

Fitful sleeping led to another nightmare and a scream loud enough to wake the heavily-medicated Lincoln. He rushed to the bedroom and found Michael covering his eyes.

"Mikey," he called.

Michael looked at him abruptly and tossed the blankets aside to run and hug him.

"Oof! What's wrong, buddy?"

Michael's voice was muffled in Lincoln's tank top. "I dreamed you died in a car accident. Just like dad."

Lincoln rubbed his back. "Looks like I'm a dead man walking," he said.

Michael smacked him. "Don't joke."

Lincoln tightened his hug and replied, "It's alright, Mikey. I'm here."

Michael wiped his face. "I'm sorry. Probably woke up the whole apartment complex."

Lincoln squeezed his shoulders to relax them. "Hey buddy, it's not your fault."

"Promise you'll be careful," Michael insisted.

"I promise."

"Truly?"

"Truly. Go back to bed."

Michael mustered a smile and returned to the covers. Lincoln plopped himself on the couch and was welcomed back to sleep. Michael held his stuffed bunny and tried to forget the images burned into his brain.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time passes too quickly! Thanks for comments and kudos, they inspire me!
> 
> As per usual, the Archive/tagged warnings apply for this chapter.
> 
> Happy reading!

Two weeks passed. The bump on Lincoln's head went down completely. His flu's severity had fled and now he only blew his nose once or twice a day. He'd gone back to work as soon as possible, but the total sum of his paycheck went to the damage of an accident that wasn't his fault. He came home late every night, so he didn't know Michael was doing everything in his power to earn enough money for rent.

Walking dogs, cleaning apartments, doing other kids' homework—you name it, Michael had done it. Every day, he'd scout out some kind of work and always came home with at least a little money. On good days he'd make $50 or more. But he was quickly realizing it wouldn't be enough—not while Lincoln's earnings were being diverted. They could take one dent like this in the college fund, but two, three, four? It was going to take at least another three weeks for Lincoln to pay off the accident, and then there was the hospital bill too, and when the college fund was gone, they'd have no money, no apartment, and no future.

So Michael was determined to find a way to get $800 in addition to the $400 he'd saved by the weekend. The first face he took the time to examine when he went to school on Thursday was Gretchen's. Plump lips, heavy eyeliner, and sleek black hair surrounding a neutral expression. Michael was about to ask her if she needed any homework done when he remembered Lincoln coming home from his date with her two Saturdays ago…

* * *

Lincoln shut the apartment door behind him. Michael didn't look up from his homework at the kitchen counter. "How did it go?" he asked.

"Michael, I did something bad," Lincoln said.

Turning around, Michael saw Lincoln rubbing his head, a telltale sign it was aching. Michael slid off the chair and went to him as Lincoln lowered himself onto the couch.

"What did you do?" Michael asked tentatively. He sat beside him.

Lincoln crossed his arms over his chest, avoiding Michael's gaze. "You know how you said I didn't have to have sex with Gretchen?"

Michael jumped up. "You what?"

Lincoln stood, too, saying, "No, no, no, I didn't—I sort of did—I didn't want to—"

Michael stepped back. "You cheated on Veronica with a sixteen-year-old?"

Lincoln's lips parted and he put his hands together. "Mikey, please let me explain."

Michael gestured to him. "Go ahead."

Lincoln's cheeks burned. He looked away. "We went to the theater and she picked some stupid romcom movie. It got to the sex scene part and she stuck her hand down my pants!"

"You got a hard-on for a fake sex scene?" Michael questioned.

"It's kinda hard not to when someone's touching you!"

Michael sighed. "If you really didn't want her touching you, you should have said something. Isn't that what you told me?"

Lincoln let out a groan as he fell back onto the couch. "You're right. You're right! I dunno, Mikey. It was a heat of the moment thing. And I'm really missing Veronica."

Michael eyed him suspiciously.

"Not just for that," Lincoln explained, laughing a little. "I didn't touch Gretchen or anything, if you were wondering."

Michael knelt beside him and rested his chin on Lincoln's knee. "I'm sure she appreciated that."

Lincoln gave him a light smack. "I told you it wasn't gonna be a real date. Just a movie and popcorn."

"And some underage dick sucking, huh?" Michael teased, grinning.

Lincoln pointed at him. "Handjob," he corrected, "and is the age thing really that big of a deal?"

"In the eyes of the law, yeah," Michael said.

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Well, duh," he said, "but what do you think?"

"Why, did you like her that much?"

"No, I'm just asking what you think," Lincoln replied. "You've never thought about being with an older guy or girl?"

Michael tapped Lincoln's knee. "Hm, guilty. But that sort of thing can be dangerous."

"Not everything is like the movies," Lincoln said.

Michael smiled. "I know. I just think about Mom sometimes. Pregnant at seventeen."

"You think I ruined her life?" Lincoln asked.

Michael looked up at him and moved to sprawl across his lap. "No. She's fine. Career. House. Two loving children."

Lincoln chuckled and put his arms around him. "You think Dad ruined her life?"

Michael shook his head. "They did it to themselves. Besides, according to Mom, she never was pregnant at seventeen. Your baby pictures could all be my baby pictures. We're not that far apart, and Mom has always looked young."

Lincoln didn't say anything and instead rubbed Michael's back.

"Does it bother you?" Michael asked. "What she said?"

Lincoln took a breath and wore a hint of a smile. "A little, yeah."

Michael leaned into his shoulder. "Don't let it."

"Does it bother you?" Lincoln asked, looking at him intently.

"Why would it?"

"You're living with someone who's not your brother."

"You are my brother," Michael insisted, facing him.

"Not without a doubt," Lincoln argued. "You said yourself, we wouldn't know from the pictures."

"There must be a newborn picture of yours somewhere. From the hospital."

"Not that I remember," Lincoln said.

Michael made a face. "Maybe I should sneak into the house and check all the photo albums. Would that make you happy?"

"You make me happy, Mike. I'm just wondering if you'd be okay accepting things as they seem right now."

"If you weren't my brother?"

"Yeah."

Michael scoffed. "You think I'd just get up and leave or something? That's not going to happen."

Lincoln smiled at him. Michael gripped his shoulder.

"You're my brother. Blood or not. Got it?"

Lincoln gave an affirmative nod. Michael went back to his homework as Lincoln turned on the television, letting it play on the channel it left off on for a while as he watched Michael pore over his studies.

* * *

…Michael turned to face his English notebook the second Gretchen caught him staring.

"Hey," she snapped, "What are you looking at me for?"

Michael feigned ignorance. "No reason."

Gretchen grabbed his shirt and pulled him towards her desk. "It was your brother, wasn't it? He told you something."

Michael swallowed. "He said you have... Very nice hands."

Gretchen stared him down before cracking a grin. "You bet I do."

Michael wrapped his hand around hers delicately and tugged her off his shirt. "If he didn't have a girlfriend, I'm sure he'd want another date with you."

"But he does have a girlfriend," she inferred.

"Like I said."

"Well, you know what else he has?"

Michael had a bad feeling about this.

"A little dick. I'm talking this big." She made a circle with her fingers. Michael flushed.

"That's not true," he said.

Gretchen laughed at his reaction. "And how would you know?"

"We share a bathroom," Michael sputtered.

"So you were looking?"

"No! I just mean—"

"Listen, Michael, I'm not judging you. Everyone gets curious sometimes," she teased, wicked grin on her face. Michael huffed.

"He didn't say you have nice hands," he retorted.

"Oh?"

"He said…"

"What? Please enlighten me."

"You came on too strong."

Gretchen's smile fell. "Oh," she said softly, and looked at the papers on her desk.

Regret swamped Michael. "But he liked it," he finished, adding, "He likes strong women."

Gretchen gave a little shrug as she stood up to sharpen her pencil, hips swaying confidently as she went. Michael smiled.

* * *

Things with Theodore had been going great. With his dad out of commission, Theodore was able to get some normal color back in his cheeks, and he laughed a lot more and wasn't so easy to anger by saying the wrong word or looking in the wrong direction. Michael had even taken him on a date after a particularly fruitful day of homework soliciting…

* * *

They walked along the sidewalk on their way back from Miller Meadow. Theodore was slightly buzzed and giddy from the beer he'd hidden in the river. Michael linked his arm with Theodore’s just in case his boyfriend was drunker than he appeared. He didn't want him stumbling out into the road.

Traffic was dying down as the sun set. Its orange gleam reflected on store windows, drawing Theodore's attention to some pretty thing inside.

It turned out to be a blue embroidered shawl with a tiger design on the back. Michael watched as Theodore ran his fingers down the sleeve over and over.

"You should try it on," Michael encouraged.

Theodore gushed, waving his hand. "Oh no, I couldn't... It's for girls."

"You like it. Try it on," Michael said.

Theodore bit his lip. "I suppose..."

Michael took it off the rack and led Theodore to the back of the store before practically pushing him into the dressing room. Drunk Theodore was just too cute. He emerged a few moments later wearing the shawl and a bright red color in his cheeks. He pulled Michael into the dressing room.

"So?" he asked.

"It looks good on you," Michael said, smiling.

"My daddy would kill me if he saw me in this," Theodore muttered.

Michael cupped his cheeks and gave him a kiss. "Your daddy's not here. I'm gonna buy it for you."

"Oh, Pretty..."

"You can keep it at my place if you don't want him to find it," Michael said.

Theodore fiddled with the tassels on the bottom of the shawl. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. You look very fashionable."

Theodore gave a laugh. He wore a shy smile all the way to Michael's apartment, gift bag in hand.

* * *

…But Michael knew the instant Theodore walked into World History, something was wrong. He knew the look all too well by now. Cried out eyes. Uneven movements. Too much pain for one person to bear.

"Teddy?" Michael whispered.

Theodore took his seat slowly. "M'fine."

Michael grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Ms. Kirkwood started the history lesson.

"Today we'll be talking about imperialism. What are some events we associate with imperialism?"

"The United States," someone said.

Ms. Kirkwood wrote it on the board. "Okay, what else?"

"European colonization," another said.

"Specifically?"

"Slavery."

"Good, what else?"

"Taking natural resources."

"And?"

"Rape!" someone shouted out, smiling smugly. Theodore cringed.

Ms. Kirkwood nodded and added it to the list. "Rape of whom?"

"Women. Natives."

"Why?"

"For power."

"Power? That doesn't make sense," said another student.

"Yeah. They musta thought those women were sexy."

"Nooo, it's about superiority. They thought everything was theirs to take by right."

"Seems like the women shoulda fought back."

"Maybe they did!"

"Why'd they get raped, then?"

Theodore stood up and ran for the trash can to puke his guts out. Michael nearly knocked over his desk to get to him.

"Class, class!" Ms. Kirkwood called. "Bring it back to the topic at hand. We only know the facts. Victims are victims, they're not at fault…"

No one was listening to her as Theodore lost whatever food remained in his stomach. He wiped his mouth, chest heaving. Michael held him by the shoulders.

"Let's go out in the hall," he urged.

They went as Ms. Kirkwood tried to regain control of the classroom, one side concerned and the other laughing.

Michael stripped off his sweatshirt and wrapped it around Theodore's waist. Theodore quirked a brow.

"You're bleeding," Michael explained softly.

Theodore shook his head and clung to Michael as he broke down. Michael guided him to an open supply closet and shut the door behind them.

"I hate him, I hate him," Theodore cried.

Michael rubbed his back. "I'm here."

"I'm going to kill him! I'll kill them all!"

"Shh, shh, Teddy... They don't know what they're talking about."

Theodore wept until he couldn't stand. Michael sat with him and held him close.

"Did anyone see?" Theodore whispered.

"I don't think so," Michael replied, massaging his hair.

"Do you think they know?"

"No," Michael said firmly, "They're too stupid. They just think you had a bad breakfast."

Theodore nodded and sniffled.

"How do you feel?" Michael asked.

Theodore pinched his eyes shut. "Hurts."

"You want my brother to pick you up?"

"Can he?"

"You're not faking sick, so there shouldn't be a problem."

Theodore looked at Michael with teary eyes. "I love you, Pretty."

Michael's heart stopped and he kissed him.

* * *

Calling Lincoln on the classroom phone was the first time Michael had spoken to Lincoln in two days, and not because of their conflicting schedules…

* * *

“Veronica’s coming over in an hour. She’s got something to tell me,” Lincoln said, voice thick with dread as he hung up the phone and headed for the shower.

“I guess I’m cleaning, then?” Michael supposed.

Lincoln winked at him. “Thanks, Mikey. I’ll make it up to you soon.”

Michael nodded and went to work on the dishes. It was amazing how many dishes they could use with just the two of them. Lincoln pitched in when he could. But the pots and pans still piled up. Michael finished them and took out the trash, then stuffed all their dirty clothes in a basket. They desperately needed a trip to the laundromat. Lincoln took an extra-long time in the shower. Michael figured he was nervous.

Veronica rang their doorbell and a refreshed Lincoln answered the door. Michael plopped himself on the couch and waved at her when she came in.

“You wanna drink, V?” Lincoln asked.

“Sure,” she said quietly.

Lincoln fixed her an iced tea. Veronica thanked him and sipped it.

“You might want to sit down,” she suggested.

Lincoln furrowed his brows and sat with her at the kitchen counter. Veronica fidgeted with her purse strap and eventually put it off to the side on the counter. She met Lincoln’s eyes.

“Lincoln, I’m pregnant.”

Michael’s jaw dropped. Lincoln blinked. “What? When?”

Veronica hugged herself. “I took a test a couple weeks ago. It came up positive. That’s why I’ve been distant.”

Lincoln reached for her and held her hands. “V, did you think I wouldn’t support you?”

Veronica shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m not ready to be a mom. You’re not ready to be a dad.”

“Who says?” Lincoln replied.

Michael got up and left the apartment. Lincoln took a breath, torn between chasing him and staying with Veronica. He stayed.

“Did you see a doctor yet?” he asked.

“No,” Veronica said.

“Why not, sweetheart?”

“I’m afraid. I don't know what to do.”

Lincoln squeezed her hands. “I’ll make you an appointment, okay? It’s gonna be alright.”

“What if… what if I don’t want the baby?” Tears slipped down her cheeks. Lincoln got up and hugged her to his chest, expression solemn.

“It’s gonna be alright. Whatever you choose.”

Veronica kissed him. “I love you, Lincoln.”

Lincoln smiled and wiped her cheeks. “I love you too. I’m gonna check on Mikey.”

She nodded and took a much-needed sip of her tea. Lincoln found Michael sitting on the curb, breath coming irregularly. He put a hand on his back.

“Mike, what’s wrong?”

Michael shook him off and stood. “You’re having a baby!” he yelled.

Lincoln swallowed. “It’s a shock to me too.”

“What about us, Linc? We can barely take care of each other!”

“It’s just a rough patch, Mike. Money won’t be a problem after I’ve taken care of this car accident.”

“Yes, it will be! Babies are expensive! Diapers, doctor’s appointments, another hospital bill! I—I—”

Lincoln held his shoulders. “Breathe, buddy. You’re panicking.”

Michael took sharp, shallow breaths, pushing Lincoln’s hands away. “I am not overreacting.”

“I didn’t say that. Just listen to me, Mike. Veronica will pitch in, too. We’ll be okay.”

Michael glared at him. “You and her will be fine. I’ll be the outsider.”

“No, Mike. Never.”

“You can’t raise a baby and your brother at the same time. I’ll be left to fend for myself.”

Lincoln tried to hug him, saying, “I would never leave you, Mike.”

Michael shoved him away and walked off.

* * *

…Lincoln’s boss put him on the phone after a stern, “Two minutes. Then get back to work.” Michael could sense Lincoln rolling his eyes as he took the phone.

"Hey, Mike. What's up?"

"I need you to take Theodore to the hospital."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Mikey, tell me now."

"I can't. People can hear."

"That doesn't sound good, Mike. Why can't his parents take him?"

Michael's brows stitched together as he thought of a lie. "They have to work," he explained.

"I have to work," Lincoln said.

"Please, Linc," Michael urged. "Think of Alex."

Lincoln was quiet for a moment and Michael was sure he'd set him on the right train of thought, or at least answered why Theodore's parents couldn't be the ones to take him.

"Does he need me to stay with him?" Lincoln asked.

"Yeah. Don't ask him too many questions. He'll need a place to stay afterwards."

"And you're thinking with us?"

"His relatives are in Alabama," Michael said, remembering what Theodore had told him about his childhood. "Please, Linc." His voice cracked, although subtly and not on purpose.

"Okay. Don't cry," Lincoln answered.

"I'm not."

"I'll take care of him. Relax."

"Thank you," Michael whispered. He hung up.

* * *

At lunch, Michael’s brain was spent, and he still had to figure out how to make nearly a thousand dollars in three days. Sara put a hand on his shoulder and he jumped.

“Sorry,” Sara said, and took her hand back. Michael realized the conversation at the lunch table had gone on long without him. No one but Sara was worried about him this time. “Are you alright?” she asked.

Michael sighed. “I don’t know.”

“You want to talk about it?” Sara asked. “Maybe I can help.”

Michael looked at her and her pink lips and big brown eyes. His thoughts drifted to something shameful, of dealing with his feelings the way Theodore dealt with his. There was no way it would ever happen.

“It’s family stuff,” Michael told her. “My brother’s having a baby and we don’t have a lot of money.”

“Can your parents help?” Sara suggested.

Michael gave a laugh. “I wish. Mom doesn’t know, and I’m pretty sure she’d call my brother some bad names if she found out.”

“How old is your brother?”

“Twenty. And Veronica’s nineteen. She’s pretty upset, but everything just rolls off Lincoln’s shoulders. I don’t understand how he thinks the future’s going to be rainbows and sparkles and baby balloons.”

Sara hummed. “Maybe your brother sees it as good news.”

Michael’s lips parted. “That actually… makes sense. He said he wanted to be a dad. _Someday,_ though. Not today!”

Sara laughed. “Why are you so worried?” she asked gently.

Michael was very serious. “Because, my mom hates us, and my dad is dead. Linc’s all I’ve got.”

Sara’s expression softened and she rubbed Michael’s shoulder. “You have me, too. You have your friends. Don’t lock yourself away.”

Michael cupped his hand to hers. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Sara smiled. “Hey, do you have your sketchbook with you? I have an idea for a drawing.”

Michael got out his sketchbook and they doodled together.

* * *

The school day carried on. Michael wished he’d had the focus to enjoy Fernando’s stories about Maricruz. He knew they meant something to his friend, and he liked to see him smile, but Michael just couldn’t reciprocate the same joy.

“Hey, Papi, I’m having a party this weekend if you wanna come. I’m finally off house arrest!”

Michael snapped out of his _uh-huhs_ and _cools_ and met Fernando’s fist bump with his own. “That’s awesome, Papi! Should I bring someone?”

“Actually, I was just thinking you and Maricruz and maybe a couple other friends. And you and I could hang out afterwards.”         

“Like a… date?” Michael asked, then felt incredibly stupid. Maricruz was the love of Fernando’s life, obviously.

Fernando held up his hands. “Haha, no, Papi! Just like a bro-date. Wait, are you not straight?”

Michael hid his face. He’d asked too loudly. His classmates heard for sure. Fernando mimicked Michael’s position and whispered to him.

“Sorry, Papi, I didn’t realize.”

Michael turned back to face him, his chin on his arms. “I like girls, too,” he said.

“Ah,” Fernando replied, smiling. “I knew you had your sights on Maricruz.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “She’s yours, I know.”

Fernando punched his shoulder lightly. “So, hey, does that mean you think I’m, like, hot?”

“Dude,” Michael said, cheeks pink.

“Well, you thought I was asking you out!”

Michael shushed him, even though their voices were already low. “Yes, I think you’re hot. No, I don’t want to go out with you. You’re my friend.”

Fernando couldn’t stop smiling. “Michael Scofield thinks I’m hot. Hey, did you know you’re like, the hottest guy at Fox River? All the girls talk about you. Which means if you think _I’m_ hot, I must be pretty hot, you know what I mean?”

Michael laughed and tried to cover it so the teacher wouldn’t call him out. “I’m the hottest guy at Fox River?”

“Yes, Papi! By association, it makes me like, ten degrees hotter. But you’re smokin’.”

Michael’s blush was intense. “You’re sure you’re straight?” he whispered.

Fernando shrugged. “I just go with the flow, Papi. But Maricruz es mi amor, you know?”

Michael nodded. Fernando threw his arm around him and hugged him warmly.

“So are you coming to the party or what?” Fernando asked as he let him go.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Michael answered, smiling.

Fernando patted his back and wrote down his address and the date and time for him.

* * *

After school, Michael called Lincoln again. He reached him on the apartment phone.

"Hey, buddy, you need a ride?"

"I can take the bus. Is Theodore there?"

"Yeah, he's sleeping on the couch." Lincoln's voice grew more serious. "I think you and I need to talk."

"I'll be there soon," Michael said.

"Okay. Be safe."

"Uh huh." He hung up and ran for the track as fast as he could so he wouldn’t miss the bus. He caught Alex’s arm as he tried to regain his breath.

“I have to miss track today,” Michael told him.

“Again?” Alex asked, lips twitching downwards.

He’d needed the time for his odd jobs. Alex had taken time to rest within the two weeks that had passed. He was almost back to normal, save for the fact that he couldn’t run without straining his injury. That left him with no choice but to coach from the sidelines.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “Have fun, okay?”

Alex ran a hand through his hair. “It won’t be the same without you. You need the most coaching, after all.”

Michael laughed at the taunt. "I ran down here pretty fast just now, didn't I?"

Alex shrugged and said, "I don't see a timer around your neck."

Michael shook his head, beat. “We’ll hang out soon, okay?” he offered.

Alex brightened at that. “Alright. See you later.”

Michael took off running. Alex tossed back a pill.

* * *

The bus dropped Michael off near the apartment complex. He made his way home in an awkward jog, eager to see Theodore and anxious to talk to Lincoln. He dropped his keys attempting to unlock the door and stooped to pick them up just as Lincoln opened the door. He stepped out and closed the door behind him. Michael rose slowly. Lincoln crossed his arms, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

"Talk to me," he said.

Michael swallowed. "What do you know?"

Lincoln shrugged. "Your boyfriend refused to let the doctors look at him. Like yelling-scratching-punching refused."

Michael rubbed his forehead. "So you just took him home?"

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't tell me what was wrong with him. I couldn't tell by looking at him." Lincoln tipped his chin up, waiting for an explanation. Michael wished he could just transfer the information into Lincoln's head via telepathic connection. The word felt like a dagger in his tongue, something to stumble and bleed over.

"Teddy's father raped him," he said softly. "And it's not the first time."

Michael watched the emotions on Lincoln's face as they happened. His own returned from somewhere deep within him, a place where he could bury anything that prevented him from moving on with daily life. He felt the tears bead in his eyes against his will. Soon he was dripping with silent streams, aside from the hiccups in his breath.

"Oh, Mikey," Lincoln said, hugging him close, a hand cupped to the back of his head, "Breathe, breathe, breathe."

Michael took a sharp breath, his fingers forming a fist in Lincoln's shirt. He exhaled it as a sob. Lincoln squeezed the back of his neck.

"Let it out, Mikey. It's alright. I've got you. You're safe, he's safe."

Michael nodded and willed the tears away, but they kept coming. Lincoln let go of him and wiped his cheeks instead.

"How long have you had the weight of the world on your shoulders?" he asked.

Michael shook his head. He answered shakily, "A few weeks. I'm s-sorry. I should have told y-you."

"Shh, Mike. It's alright. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought I— I handled it," he stuttered.

Lincoln cupped his cheeks. "How?"

Michael held onto Lincoln's wrists. "I told John Abruzzi and he beat up Teddy's dad."

Lincoln stroked his cheeks with his thumbs. "You stay away from him, alright? And I don't want you confronting Theodore's dad  _ever_."

"It happened right in front of me," Michael confessed, his body shaking.

"What did?"

Michael shook his head.

"What happened to Teddy?"

Michael nodded.

Lincoln held him tight, his lips pressed to Michael's forehead. "Nobody's gonna hurt you, Mike. Nobody's gonna hurt him. I wish you'd told me sooner."

"I could have prevented this," Michael realized.

Lincoln faced him. "No, Mike. This is all on his monster of a father. Not you."

"What are we gonna do?" Michael asked. "If Teddy won't see a doctor, he probably won't file a police report—"

"Let me worry about it for a while," Lincoln replied, rubbing the soft hair on Michael's head, "I'm gonna draw you a bath, and I want you to just sit and relax. Clear your mind. I'll be right outside the door, okay?"

"I don't think I can clear my mind," Michael worried.

"Just take deep breaths. It's not your secret anymore. I'll get it all taken care of."

"But Linc—"

"What, Mikey?"

 _You have so much else to worry about,_  he almost said. Lincoln looked at him like he always did, confident and strong and stubborn. So instead, Michael responded, "I love you. I love you so much."

Lincoln smiled and ruffled Michael's hair. "C'mon. Let's get that bath going."

Michael soaked in the hot, bubbly water until the bath lost its heat. He could hear Lincoln and Theodore talking in the family room, sometimes arguing, Michael thought, from the tone and volume of their voices. He stood up, feeling the water trickle down his body before he wrapped a towel around his waist. He pulled out the stopper in the drain and took a deep breath as the water swirled away.

Michael opened the door and stepped into the skinny hallway between the bathroom and the bedroom.

"Pretty! Talk some sense into your brother, please."

Michael looked at Theodore's flushed face and concluded he was frustrated with something, or maybe everything. "Let me get dressed," he said, and went to the bedroom to put on musty clothes. When he came out Lincoln was sitting on the couch, rubbing his head. Theodore stopped pacing when Michael entered the room and pointed at Lincoln.

"Pretty, please tell him I don't need a doctor. I'm fine. I just need a place to stay."

Michael glanced at Lincoln, but he didn't offer any other argument. Michael held Theodore's shoulders.

"You need a doctor," he replied. "I saw. You're hurt. The doctor can give the police evidence—"

Theodore had stopped listening after Michael agreed with Lincoln. He shoved Michael away.

"What's wrong with you?" Theodore shouted. "I can't think of anything more humiliating, more  _shameful_  than what you're asking me to do!"

Michael frowned and offered, "I can stay with you while you're with the doctor."

"No!"

"How are you gonna get away from your dad, Teddy? They won't take your word for it."

"I'm not tellin' anyone else! You already told two people! Soon everyone will know I'm my daddy's whore!"

"No one's gonna know but the police and the doctors," Lincoln said. "You're a minor, they won't publish your name."

Theodore took a sharp breath and turned around, leaning against the wall for support. Michael watched his shoulders bob. He took a step closer.

"Teddy," he whispered.

Theodore shook his head. "I won't go..."

"I love you, Teddy," Michael said.

Theodore sniffled and turned his head, but didn't face him. "You do?"

"Very much. And I'm only asking you to see a doctor because I love you. It's what's best for you."

Theodore didn't reply, just wiped his face. Michael hugged him slowly, and Theodore turned and hugged back.

"You'll stay with me?" he asked.

"Of course," Michael said, tangling his fingers in Theodore's greasy hair. "But you have to be honest about what happened. I can step out of the room if you don't want me to hear."

Theodore was quiet. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

Michael looked over and saw Lincoln already on his feet, shoes on and keys in hand.

The waiting room for the emergency department was crowded and loud. Theodore stood with arms crossed, mimicking Lincoln's posture not far from him. Michael was the only one willing to sit down.

They called Theodore's name and the three of them went back to a room. Lincoln waited in the hallway as Theodore changed into a hospital gown.

"I always hated these dresses," he said, putting his arms through the sleeves. Michael gave a little laugh. Theodore laid back on the hospital bed and Michael held his hand while they waited for the nurse.

The examination was like pulling teeth, although it didn't last very long, and getting Theodore to talk about his dad was even worse.

"You want me to leave?" Michael asked.

"So sensitive, Pretty," Theodore teased, but gave him a nod. Michael stood next to Lincoln in the hallway. Lincoln put his arm around him.

"Doing alright?"

"Yeah," Michael said. "It's hard to see him so unhappy."

Lincoln rubbed his arm up and down. "I know. You're being brave for him."

Michael mustered a smile and leaned into Lincoln.

Theodore used the hospital shower and called Michael back in when he was dressed. They'd given him a white shirt and a pair of khakis to wear. Theodore dug Michael's hoodie out of a plastic bag and gave it back to him.

"Thanks, Pretty," he muttered.

Michael nodded as Theodore tugged on his socks and shoes. "Ready to go already?" he asked.

"An officer's coming to talk to me," Theodore replied, "but after that I can go home with you."

Michael gave a sigh of relief. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah. Do I look like an angel to you?" Theodore asked, gesturing to his outfit. "Someone who isn't lying?"

Michael took his hands in his. "No one thinks you're lying."

They broke apart as there was a loud rap on the door. A uniformed man walked in, ducking under the doorway to fit his great height. He offered his hand to both of them. Michael took it just as the man said, "I'm Officer Mahone—"

Michael pulled out of his grip, gaze hard. Officer Mahone shrugged it off and asked, "Which one of you is Theodore?"

"Linc!" Michael called.

Theodore nudged Michael, his brows furrowed. Officer Mahone put a hand on Michael's shoulder.

"Hey, I know you've gone through something bad, but you don't need to shout. Why don't you sit down and we'll talk about it?"

Michael backed away from him as Lincoln came in the room.

"What's wrong, Mikey?" he asked, eyeing the officer. "He do something to you?"

Michael felt frozen. He pictured Alex's bruises, black and blue and red and yellow and green. And then he wanted some form of godly justice to rain down on the man before him. He just couldn't figure out how to bring it about.

"Theodore would be more comfortable with a female officer," he said.

Officer Mahone rubbed his jaw. "I'm sorry, but they sent me. You'd just have to wait another hour for someone else."

"Michael?" Theodore questioned softly.

Michael crossed his arms. "We'll wait."

Officer Mahone glanced at Lincoln, who subtly stepped in front of Michael. "Kids," Lincoln offered, shrugging.

The officer scoffed and spoke into his walkie-talkie on his way out. Lincoln turned around and asked, "Alright, how do you know him?"

"That's Alex's dad," Michael explained.

Theodore flopped on the hospital bed, saying, "What does Alex have to do with anything?"

"You remember the tug of war game?

Theodore pursed his lips and said, "Well, fuck, does everyone have daddy issues?"

"Watch your mouth," Lincoln snapped.

Theodore raised his brows and zipped his lips shut.

"I didn't want you to tell  _him_  what happened to you," Michael murmured.

"Wouldn't want to give him any ideas about that tight track captain ass, huh?"

"Shut up!" Michael yelled suddenly, glaring at him with wide eyes.

Theodore jumped and slowly turned on his side as he recovered, facing the opposite wall. "Sorry, I'm tired."

"Sleep, then. I don't care." Michael strode out of the room, leaving Lincoln grasping at air.

* * *

Walking through the hospital acted as a form of meditation. Michael memorized the corridors, the waiting rooms, the elevators and their towers. He thought he could memorize it all, but when he was far enough away from Theodore's room, he forgot the way back and had to walk around the outside of the hospital to find the emergency department.

* * *

Lincoln plopped a chair in front of Theodore and sat in it. Theodore pinched his eyes shut.

"Hey," Lincoln said, "I wanna talk to you."

Theodore turned on his other side. Lincoln moved his chair and stared at him stubbornly. Theodore picked at his pillow.

"I didn't mean what I said," he told him.

Lincoln nodded. "That's a good start."

Theodore rolled his eyes. "I'm jealous, is that what you want to hear?"

Lincoln shrugged. "Old news."

Theodore huffed. "That boy is always stealing Michael's attention away. So what if I'm jealous?"

"So what, huh? You made my brother feel bad for caring about his friends. I wouldn't want you baring your soul to some abuser either."

"S'not my soul," Theodore grumbled.

"I'm not gonna argue about similes," Lincoln said.

"Semantics," Theodore corrected. "And I'm not a victim."

"A survivor, then?"

"Neither! I'm not helpless!"

"You gonna fight back?" Lincoln asked.

"Yes!"

"With everything you've got?"

"Yes!"

Lincoln gave him a tiny flicker of a smile. "Good. You have my support. If you want Michael's, you've gotta be more sensitive."

"How?" he challenged.

"Watch your tongue," Lincoln answered.

Theodore brushed a fraying part of his pillow over and over. "Sorry about your dad," he replied. "Michael told me he died."

Lincoln willed his face into steel and gave a curt nod.

* * *

The ride home was tense. Theodore had spoken with a female officer before Michael came back to the room, still silently steaming. Lincoln tried to talk him down, but Michael couldn't let it go.

"You're sleeping on the couch," he told Theodore, who sat cramped in the backseat of their truck.

"And you're sleeping with your brother?" Theodore shot back.

"Hey," Lincoln snapped. 

"Ya only got one bed," Theodore pointed out.

"Exactly," Michael said, gritting his teeth.

"You could buy another mattress," Theodore replied.

"Money's tight," Michael answered.

"Like something else I can think of," Theodore alluded.

Michael whirled around. "I don't wanna hear anything outta your mouth about Alex Mahone!"

Theodore was quiet for a moment. "I wasn't talkin' about Alex."

Michael launched himself at Theodore and the truck swerved as Lincoln pulled over to break up the fight. He grabbed Michael's shirt and pulled him back into the front seat. Michael still swung at Theodore, who was smacking back just as fiercely. "Hey, hey, stop it!" Lincoln barked.

Michael huffed and sat back in his seat, still glaring at Theodore. "Why are you being so awful?" he accused.

"Why won't you sleep with me?" Theodore spat.

"You're being awful because you want to fuck me? Seriously?"

"Mikey, this isn't a conversation I need to be here for," Lincoln muttered.

"Then get out."

"Mike—"

Michael ignored him. "I don't trust you, Teddy. I don't trust that you won't hurt me. Okay?"

"Why not?" Theodore countered.

"You've burned me too many times! I never know when you're gonna kick me or kiss me. Understand?"

"The same could be said about you," he murmured.

"What?"

"You let Alex beat me up at the party. You didn't say a thing."

"You were forcing me—"

"I was NOT!"

"You wouldn't stop—"

"You didn't tell me no!"

"I was drunk!"

"Still didn't hear a no!"

"It doesn't matter!"

"Alright, that's enough," Lincoln said, turning to face them. "You both learned your lesson, didn't you? Don't drink on a date. Get explicit consent. You gotta move on, 'cause it's getting late, and Theodore, you've got nowhere else to go, right?"

Theodore exhaled loudly.

"Neither of you are having sex in the apartment, especially while I'm there," Lincoln added, "So that's settled."

"I wasn't planning on it," Michael said.

"You never were," Theodore jeered.

"Shut up," Lincoln demanded, actually bringing about the silence this time. Michael crossed his arms and stared out the window as Lincoln drove them home.

* * *

In the apartment, Lincoln made Theodore's bed on the pullout couch while the boys sent passive-aggressive stares at each other. Lincoln sighed and made them eat something for dinner before bed. He turned out all the lights and double-checked that the front door was locked, then changed into his Superman pajama pants and got in bed beside Michael. His little brother faced the wall on his side. Lincoln touched his shoulder.

"Don't," Michael said.

Lincoln pulled back his hand. "Are you alright? You haven't been this mad in a while."

Michael turned to face him. "Did you hear the things he said?"

"Yeah. He's provoking you on purpose."

"Why? I don't get it."

Lincoln tucked a pillow under his head. "I dunno, Mike. He's got a lot of pent-up anger."

"Well, so do I."

"Maybe that's what he wanted."

"He wants to fuck me," Michael argued.

"I think he wants reassurance that you won't leave him for Alex," Lincoln suggested.

"But..."

"What?"

"I do like Alex. I've liked him since I met him."

"Are you committed to Theodore?" Lincoln asked.

Michael's jaw clenched so tight it ached. "I want to be. I meant what I said earlier. And I want him to get better. He needs my support."

"True," Lincoln said. He took Michael's tense hand in his and unfurled his fingers. "Can he earn your trust again? Or is it gone forever?"

Michael sighed.

"You should think about it some more," Lincoln advised, "but tonight, just rest. You're exhausted."

"I think there's still some fight in me," Michael said.

Lincoln laughed. "Save it for tomorrow."

Michael smiled. "Alright." He closed his eyes.

"Hey," Lincoln called.

"Mm?"

"I want you to tell me if Theodore hurts you. This living arrangement won't work if he does."

"You mean you'd kick him out?"

"I'd work something else out."

"Like...?"

"I dunno, Mikey. You gotta go easy on me."

Michael squeezed Lincoln's hand. "I will. Thanks."

"Welcome."

They closed their eyes and slept. To Michael, it felt like only minutes had passed when Theodore woke him up. He stood in the blackness of the doorway with a blanket around his shoulders.

"Pretty?" he whispered, voice shaking.

Michael made room for him on the bed and lifted the covers. Theodore crawled over to him and Michael fixed the blankets for them, trying not to disturb Lincoln. He wiped Theodore's wet cheeks.

"Nightmare?" he asked.

Theodore nodded. Michael moved a damp lock of hair out of Theodore's eyes.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked.

"No," Theodore whispered.

"That's alright. I've got you," Michael said, reciting Lincoln's words of comfort.

Theodore wrapped his arm around Michael's side. "I'm sorry for everything," he murmured. "Please don't be mad at me."

Michael kissed his forehead. "Forget it. Just breathe. You're safe here."

Gradually, Theodore's shaking went away. Michael held him all night.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael makes a misguided decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I'm sorry this update took so long. Life™ has been a rollercoaster lately, with more downs than ups. Writing this fic is still an "up" though, so I hope you readers enjoy it too!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include: use of a homophobic slur and multiple issues with consent.

There was a crane on the nightstand when Michael woke up. He reached over Theodore's sleeping form and unfolded the off-white paper.

_Mikey, I’ll be at work all day, so take the bus after school. Call me if you need anything. Love, Linc_

Michael sighed and folded the paper before setting it back on the nightstand. He didn’t say it, but clearly Lincoln felt the impending pressure of rent. Michael observed Theodore’s untroubled face for a moment before he shook his shoulder gently.

Theodore took a sharp breath and relaxed when he realized it was Michael. They held each other’s gaze for a moment.

“Pretty?” Theodore asked.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry 'bout what I said yesterday. 'Bout sleeping with me."

"Oh," Michael said. "It's alright."

Theodore reached for his hand and held it. "S'just, I worry, you know… Since you saw me with my daddy you've been skittish."

Michael squeezed his hand. “I don't blame you for that.”

Theodore mustered a smile. "That's cuz you're a good boy. But I understand if you're disgusted—"

"I'm not," Michael interrupted.

"No?"

Michael laced their fingers together. "I don’t think that of you.”

Theodore shifted and pressed their lips together for a moment. Michael was smiling when they parted.

“Well, I musta done somethin’ right, huh, Pretty?” Theodore teased, mirroring Michael’s smile with his own.

“Somethin’,” Michael replied, and gave him a quick kiss. "You're welcome to the shower, and any of my clothes. Get ready." He climbed out of bed and slid open the closet, grabbing the only remaining clean shirt and tossing it to Theodore. It landed on the side of the bed and stayed there as Theodore sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"School?" he asked.

"Yup," Michael said, digging through his laundry basket for something that smelled decent. He held one of Lincoln’s shirts to his nose and furrowed his brows at the strange odor. He put it back in the basket and settled on two pairs of jeans and a different t-shirt that would work. Luckily there were still fresh boxers for both of them. Theodore ruffled his hair and laid back down in the bed.

"What are you doing?" Michael asked. "Come on."

"Don't wanna go."

"Teddy," Michael chided. He sat beside him and stroked his jawline with the tip of his finger. "We can't hide from the world forever."

Theodore looked at him and tugged him onto the bed for a cuddle. "Just one day, huh? Wouldn't that be nice?"

“I’d love that,” Michael said, wrapping his arms around him nonetheless, “but I have to make rent, and school’s one way to do that.”

Theodore searched his face and replied, “You got any other ways? Less… studious ways?”

Michael’s brows pinched. “Why?”

The cat hopped on their bed and brushed her whiskers against Theodore’s cheek. He sighed.

“Because if you go to school, my only company is that little gray cat,” Theodore said, tipping his head toward her, “and she’s not as good at snuggling as you are.”

“Aww,” Michael said, “Did you give her a chance? You might find you like her better.” He scooped up Stormy and held her like a baby. She started to purr loudly. Theodore grinned.

“That is darling,” he admitted.

Michael passed her to Theodore and asked, “Have you ever needed money, Teddy?”

Theodore side-eyed him as he petted Stormy. “Have I ever…!”

Michael sat up better and said, “I know, stupid question. To be honest, I’m running out of options, and I thought, maybe, someone like John Abruzzi could help—”

Theodore cut him off by shaking his head. “Uh uh. No way. Don’t ask him.”

“Why not?”

“Did he knock the memory out of you when he smashed your head on the bathroom wall? Crushed your toes? That is a jealous man, Pretty.”

“We’re on better terms now,” Michael said.

“Oh,” Theodore exaggerated, “Do tell.”

“It’s a long story,” he tried.

“I’m here all day,” Theodore replied, his dark eyes making Michael’s face feel hot. He ran a hand through his hair and studied the bedsheets.

“John helped me get away from some bad guys. Guys like your…” _father,_ Michael almost said.

Theodore stiffened. “Don’t.”

“What?” Michael asked.

“If he helped you, he wants you for himself. Pretty boy like you oughta know better.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Michael argued, cheeks warm.

“You forget the _explicit_ nature of our relationship,” Theodore continued. “Pizza wasn’t the only thing goin’ in my mouth for free.”

“Stop it,” Michael blurted.

“He’d have a joyride with you,” Theodore said, “Someone so _inexperienced.”_

“I was just gonna ask for a job,” Michael said, his eyes watering. “I’m not some desperate whore.”

Theodore shifted suddenly, pinning Michael to the bed as the cat launched off his lap. “Take it back,” he spat.

“That’s not what I meant,” Michael whispered, eyes wide.

“But it’s what you said,” Theodore growled.

“Teddy—”

“You said you didn’t think that of me!”

“I don’t.”

Theodore stared him down, trying to decide if he should believe him. He studied the furrow between Michael’s brows.

“You’re hurting me,” Michael said, his voice low.

Theodore glanced at the death grip he’d formed around Michael’s wrists and let him go. He put his back to the wall and avoided Michael’s gaze. “Sorry.”

Michael sat up and rubbed his wrists gingerly. He cleared his throat.

“The truth is, I am desperate.”

He got up to shower without another word.

* * *

Seven hours of school acted as an ever-increasing dose of anxiety for Michael, with the needle getting thicker and longer as time passed. He'd made no money at all the day before and his goal was getting further and further away. Michael decided to go against Theodore's advice and talk to John. Debates about how to approach the man only led to one conclusion: appeal to his senses—both respectable and indecent.

Michael headed for the bathroom after school and hid in a stall as he took his shirt off. He held the fabric between two hands, argued with himself one last time, and tore the right sleeve clean off, then the left. He put it back on and stuffed the extra fabric in his bag. His jeans would just have to stay as they were. He threw his backpack over his shoulder and jogged to Abruzzi's down the street.

It was crowded with the after-school rush of hungry students. He'd have to fight for John's attention, which was currently devoted to taking orders at the register, while a coworker took orders on the ever-ringing phone.

Trying to sneak into the front of the line proved unwise. One of Michael's classmates shoved him out of the way and snapped at him as he retreated, taking a place at the back of the line.

When it was Michael's turn to "order" ten minutes later, John didn't make eye contact. He simply barked out, "What do you want?"

Michael cleared his throat and John looked up from where he wrote down the last order. Michael bit his lip.

"You gonna order or what?" John demanded.

Michael's face fell as he realized his track-athlete-look hadn't worked. "Could I get a cup of water?"

John pushed himself off the counter and got it for him. "Anything else?" he slurred.

Michael sipped the water and wiped his mouth with his thumb. "Looks like you could use some help back there," he suggested.

John glanced at the two boys making pizzas as fast as they could throw pepperoni. "I think they've got it," he said.

"Dude, hurry up," someone called behind him. "You're holding up the line!"

Michael grew worried. "Are you sure? I'd love to work under you," he said.

John smirked slowly. "You want something free, you gotta earn it, kid."

Michael leaned over the counter and let his eyes trail over John. "I'll do everything you say, no fuss. You're the boss."

John gave a laugh and ran a hand through his slicked back hair. "Sorry, kid. We've got a uniform here. You can't work dressed like  _that_."

Maybe his outfit had worked. But John was playing hard to get.

"I'd be happy to put on something more appropriate," Michael teased.

The student behind Michael shoved him, sneering, "Quit flirting, faggot."

John grabbed the back of the guy's neck and slammed his head on the counter. "What did you say? Say it again, I fucking dare you. Say it."

Michael took a step back as his classmate struggled, blood oozing from his nose onto the counter. John’s knuckles were white in the boy’s long hair.

"You want your pizza so bad, huh?" John snarled, "Why don't I throw you in the oven? You'll be the pizza. I'll call it 'The  _Stronzo_  Special.' You want that?"

"Let me go!"

"John," Michael called, glancing at him nervously.

John met Michael's eyes and flung the kid away. "Get outta here. And don't come back!"

Michael's classmate stumbled, holding a hand to his nose as he cursed and strode out of the restaurant.

"Marie, take orders," John said, walking around the counter and snatching Michael's arm. He dragged him to the back of the store and plopped him on a crate. He took cinnamon bread out of the oven and cut him a slice, saying, "I like you, kid, but this is all I'm gonna give you. We don't have time for anything else, you know what I'm saying?" He chuckled at his joke and handed Michael the plate, then clapped his hands as his two coworkers tossed dough in the air.

"Sloppy, sloppy! Hurry up, you slackers!"

Michael stood with his plate in hand and touched John's arm. "I really want to help, though. Please."

John examined his fake pout and stated, "You need money."

Michael rubbed his arm slightly. "Yes."

John pulled away and replied, "I don't give loans. You have to earn it."

"Let me work for a few days," Michael suggested.

John shrugged. "Sorry, kid. You'd distract me too much."

"Teddy's staying with me," Michael pleaded, "We need money for food."

John groaned under his breath and told him, "Take the tip jar. And get outta here, alright? I can't have you making a scene every time you walk in. It's bad for business." He put his hand between Michael's shoulder blades and pushed him towards the counter. Michael took a few large steps to get ahead of him and pocketed the money from the tip jar. John stood behind the register, waving his customers over as they gave Michael the stink eye. He hurried home.

* * *

Michael spread out the money he'd made on the kitchen counter and wrote down the total for the day. There was enough to buy dinner for the three of them, but nothing would be left over. Theodore wrapped his arms around Michael's middle, hugging him from behind.

"Your shirt didn't look like this when you left," he commented. "I would have noticed." He drew circles on Michael's upper arm.

"You have excellent powers of observation," Michael said, turning around and hugging him, "as always."

Theodore smiled. "Trying out an old style?"

"Or reinventing a classy trend?" Michael joked.

Theodore raised his brows. "Classic, maybe. Classy? No." He grinned as Michael blushed. "I just mean you can afford to show a little skin, Pretty. You're always so covered up."

"I get cold easily," Michael replied, regurgitating the old excuse.

Theodore ran a hand up his chest. "You don't feel cold. You're  _hot_ , actually."

Michael held Theodore closer. "Someone's in a good mood."

Theodore smiled bashfully and looked away. "I just missed you, that's all."

Michael ruffled his hair slowly, the locks half-wet from the shower Theodore must have taken. He was glad their fight from earlier seemed to be forgotten. "You smell good," he murmured.

Theodore took a whiff of him. "You smell sweet." He wiped the corner of Michael's mouth and stuck his thumb in his mouth. "Mm. You go to Abruzzi's?"

Michael felt a wave of shame wash over him. "I asked for a shift. He wouldn't give it to me."

Theodore rubbed the torn edges of Michael's sleeve, seemingly lost in thought.

"You okay?" Michael asked.

"Mhm." He didn't look up from Michael's sleeve. Michael cupped a hand to his cheek.

"What are you thinking about?"

Theodore shrugged. "S'just you seem to be having a hard time with this place. I don't wanna make it harder for you."

Michael lifted Theodore's chin with his finger. "You're not."

Theodore smiled. "You're a liar, Pretty."

Michael huffed slightly. "It was already hard before you stayed the night. So, I'm not lying."

Theodore nodded. "Uh huh, okay. You just want to keep me prisoner, huh?"

Michael grinned. "I hear prisoners have fun behind closed bars."

Theodore laughed. "How's that Elvis song go?"

Michael took a second before he recalled "Jailhouse Rock." He cleared his throat and sang, "Number fifty-seven—"

"It's forty-seven!" Theodore interrupted.

Michael laughed and started again. "Number forty-seven said to number three—"

"You're the cutest jailbird I ever did see!"

"I sure would be delighted with your company—"

"Come on and do the jailhouse rock with me!"

Theodore bounced excitedly and grabbed Michael's hands so they could dance in the family room. They both sang the chorus, though Theodore with more confidence than Michael. "Let's rock! Everybody, let's rock!"

Soon they were dizzy from spinning and someone lost their balance, bringing the other down with him. Michael kissed Theodore before they had a chance to fully recover. Theodore smiled and took his time kissing back.

By the time Lincoln came home, they'd each lost half their clothing and were considerably louder with each touch between them. Lincoln squawked upon opening the front door and shut it just as quickly.

Michael shot up, staring at the closed door as blood rose to his cheeks with a vengeance. Theodore sat up and laughed at him.

"Pretty, we were just kissin'," he pointed out.

Michael threw on his shirt and buckled his belt as Lincoln gave a tap on the door.

"Is it safe to come in?" he called.

"Just a minute!" Michael yelled. Theodore got dressed too, still smirking devilishly. Michael figured he liked getting caught. He went to the door, still red-faced, and let Lincoln in.

"Sorry," Lincoln murmured, his lips twitching at the corners. He burst into laughter. "I'm sorry, this is karma for what you did to me and Veronica!" 

Michael gaped at him as Lincoln snickered. "That was an accident!" he yelled.

"I told you no sex in the apartment, didn't I?"

Michael covered his face. Theodore watched them argue from the couch, a sly smile on his face. Lincoln furrowed his brows and pointed at Michael's chest.

"Is that my shirt?" he questioned.

Michael looked down and attempted to laugh it off. Whoops. "No, no, this one is sleeveless. See?"

"That  _is_  my shirt. What did you do to it?"

"Michael wanted to win 'Best Dressed,' didn't you, Pretty?" Theodore teased. Michael crossed his arms, feeling exposed. Lincoln shook his head.

"Whatever. You're on laundry duty, anyway."

"I am?"

"Yup. I'm buying dinner for us. Theodore, go with Mikey."

"Huh?"

"Chores. Now," Lincoln said. "If you want clean clothes, you're gonna have to wash 'em. I don't have time or money to buy you any."

"Alright, alright. I'm no stranger to helpin' out."

Lincoln gave them quarters from his wallet and directions to the laundromat down the street. Michael carried the basket of laundry into the store. Theodore plopped their detergent on a table next to the first free washer they saw. Michael examined the machine for a moment, eyes scanning the various buttons and knobs. Theodore leaned on the washer, smirking.

"You know how to do laundry, Pretty?" he teased.

Michael sighed, caught. "My mom always did it."

Theodore laughed at him. "S'alright, Pretty, I'll teach you. Sort your darks from your lights."

Michael fished out the white clothes and handed them to Theodore, who made a pile on the table.

"Now check all your pockets for money or tissues or whatever," Theodore said, and went through his pile, chucking the approved items in the wash. "Oh, and look for stains. You'll want to soak those clothes."

Michael did as he said, tossing his double-checked clothes in the washer beside the first. He found something in the pocket of Lincoln's leather jacket.

Theodore noticed he'd stopped checking clothes and looked up from his work, then dove for the plastic bag in Michael's hand and stuffed it in his jean pocket.

"What're you thinkin', Pretty? Can't just wave drugs around like that," he said, his voice hushed.

"It's not mine," Michael replied. Then, "Is it marijuana?"

"It's green, ain't it?"

"Yeah."

"Your brother's?"

"Looks like it," Michael said softly.

Theodore held Michael's shoulder. "Hey, it's alright, Pretty. Let's get this over with."

Michael nodded. Theodore loaded detergent into both washer trays and they read magazines while they waited for the laundry to finish.

* * *

They spied Lincoln smoking on the staircase balcony when they returned. Michael asked Theodore to wait inside while he talked to him. They walked up the stairs.

Lincoln fumbled when he heard them, putting out the joint on the back of his hand.

_"Shit!"_

Lincoln dropped the cigarette and shook out his hand. Michael grimaced. Theodore took the laundry basket inside and shut the door behind him.

"Hi, Mike," Lincoln muttered, facing him.

"You burned yourself," Michael replied, taking his hand to look at the red flesh.

Lincoln took his hand back and said, "Didn't think it would hurt that much.”

Michael gazed at him. "I found marijuana in your jacket."

Lincoln sat with his back to the balcony railing and closed his eyes.

Michael crossed his arms. "Did you hear me? I said you're caught."

Lincoln shrugged. "You got me."

"We don't have money to spend on drugs, Linc!"

"I didn't buy it."

"Someone gave it to you?"

"The cute guy at work."

Michael furrowed his brows. "Cute guy?"

Lincoln glanced at Michael and looked away. "He said it would help me relax. And it really does." He gazed at the joint he'd dropped.

Michael sat next to him and picked it up, pinched between two fingers. "There's other ways to relax, you know. Ways that don't give you cancer."

"What?" Lincoln blurted. "I'm gonna get cancer?!"

Michael held the cigarette up to Lincoln's eyes. "If you keep smoking these!"

"Mikey, I don't wanna die," Lincoln moaned.

Michael laughed a little. "You won't, Linc. But we can't afford for you to rely on this. That cute guy won't give it to you for free every time."

"But it makes me feel so good," he argued.

Michael rubbed his shoulder. "I know you're stressed. You can always go for a run or take a hot shower. You can talk to me."

Lincoln turned away. "You don't wanna hear about my baby."

Michael tugged on his ear. "Sure I do."

"You're upset," Lincoln responded, voice muffled in his arms.

"When is Veronica's appointment?"

"Tomorrow."

"Do you want a boy or a girl?"

"A boy," Lincoln said. "Lincoln Junior."

Michael snickered. "Not Michael Junior?"

"That'll be the girl's name."

"Hey!"

"Ha ha! Gotcha. We'll name the girl Veronica Junior."

"What if Veronica has a different name in mind?"

Lincoln smiled at Michael. "You'll have to help me convince her otherwise."

Theodore popped his head out the door. "Dinner's getting cold, boys."

Michael helped Lincoln up as his older brother announced, "I'm starving!"

* * *

Theodore took a bathroom break after dinner and Lincoln leaned over to whisper in Michael's ear while they relaxed on the couch.

"You and your boyfriend can have the bed if you want," he said, "I'll sleep on the couch."

Michael let out a laugh. "You're high."

Lincoln pushed him. "I'm serious, bro. I saw you earlier. You want him."

"Thanks for that," Michael said sarcastically. "But I dunno if I want to tonight."

Lincoln shrugged. "He's just gonna have another nightmare and end up with us anyway."

"Sorry," Michael said. "I didn't mind, though. It was warm."

Lincoln smiled and ruffled Michael's hair. "Whatever you want."

Michael leaned into him. Theodore came back dressed in an oversized shirt of Michael's and a pair of boxers.

"Someone's ready for bed," Michael teased, holding out his arms. Theodore sat in his lap and smiled before he nipped at Michael's lips.

"Am I banished to the couch tonight?" he asked.

Michael glanced at Lincoln. He was starting to nod off. Michael gave Theodore a squeeze. "The bed's all yours," he said.

Theodore raised his brows. "Just mine?"

Michael felt his cheeks warm. "Ours. Just a second."

They got up and Michael fluffed a pillow for Lincoln and told him goodnight. Lincoln mumbled it back to him, the couch keeping him company.

Michael slipped into bed beside Theodore once he'd brushed his teeth and changed. They held each other's gaze in the dark for a moment.

“I wasn’t entirely honest this morning,” Michael said.

Theodore rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows. “Me neither.”

Michael relaxed a little at that. “Really, John helped me once, and helped me by helping you once. I don’t think he cares about me. He’s just a decent guy.”

Theodore laughed. “ _Decent_.”

“He has morals, I mean.”

“Some, Pretty. Not many.”

Michael laughed and hugged him, pulling him to his chest. “What were you going to tell me?”

Theodore traced Michael’s lips with his finger. “My relationship with John… It’s more like ours than I made it out to be.”

“Ours? You and me?”

“Mhm. You’re housing me and feeding me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and?”

Theodore smirked. He slipped a hand between them. “And sometimes we get a little frisky…”

Slowly, slowly, Theodore’s hand crept down Michael’s chest and stomach and inched beneath his boxers. Michael moaned before he remembered Lincoln in the next room. He put a hand over his mouth. Theodore pulled it away.

“He’s asleep,” he said, tipping his head in Lincoln’s direction.

Michael sighed. “Save me the embarrassment of waking him up, okay?”

Theodore nodded, smiling. “Sure, sure, I’ll be perfectly silent. You, on the other hand… We might need a gag.”

Michael smacked him. “I do not need a gag.”

Theodore laughed and tapped Michael’s lips. “Not if there’s somethin’ else in your mouth.”

Michael’s entire face warmed, followed by the rest of him. “Last time—”

“It won’t be like last time, I promise,” Theodore said. “Have you heard of sixty-nine-ing?”

Michael furrowed his brows.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Theodore muttered. “Well, I’ve always wanted to try it. It’s like this—” He pushed the blankets out of the way and changed positions, accidentally jabbing Michael in the face with his foot.

“Ow!”

Theodore ducked his head and looked between his legs at Michael holding his nose. “Pretty! Are you okay?”

“Your feet need to stay sixty-nine inches away from my face,” he replied.

Theodore held in a laugh and asked, “You get the picture, right?”

Michael let go of his nose and patted Theodore’s thighs. “I’m just looking at your ass right now.”

Theodore sighed. “Scoot down. You’re taller than me.”

Michael did. “Oh!”

“Yeah?”

“So we can both—”

“Yeah! You want to try it?”

“Can I be on top?”

Theodore flipped around and looked at him, their noses nearly touching. “Try askin’ me that again,” he said lowly.

Michael squinted at him. “Can I be on top?” he repeated.

Theodore mellowed and gave his nose a kiss. “I suppose there’s no harm.”

Michael tilted his head and studied him. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you if I topped. The other kind of top.”

Theodore grew serious. “Sorry, Pretty. We’re not doing that.”

“Tonight?”

“Ever.”

“I have lube,” Michael offered. “Condoms.”

“I said no! Why you gotta turn everything into an argument?”

“Okay, okay,” Michael whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push.”

Theodore’s grimace faded and he buried his face in Michael’s neck. “Let’s just snuggle.”

“I thought you were excited about the number position,” Michael said.

“Not anymore,” he mumbled.

Michael gripped a handful of his hair and tugged slightly. “Sure?”

“Mm… Maybe.”

“Lay down,” Michael directed.

Theodore positioned himself on his back as Michael straddled his hips, facing him.

“What’re you planning, Pretty?” Theodore asked.

“What’s half of sixty-nine?”

“It’s too late for math,” Theodore argued.

“A blowjob,” Michael answered.

“Oh.” Theodore gave a laugh. “Okay.”

“Close your eyes,” Michael advised.

Theodore did, joking, “No surprises, now.”

Michael rubbed Theodore’s chest through his t-shirt, massaging in circles till his hands grew warm. He used a lighter touch on Theodore’s stomach, and lighter still on the outside of his thighs.

“Such a tease,” Theodore said, peeking at him.

“Hey, eyes closed.”

Theodore threw an arm over his eyes and waited patiently. Michael scooted back and ran his hands up Theodore’s hips, back down his thighs, and slowly inwards, where soft, sensitive skin was waiting. He cupped Theodore’s cock through his boxers, rubbing up and down as Theodore groaned.

“Shh,” Michael warned.

“Says he who still wears pants. Get over here.”

Michael turned the way Theodore had shown him earlier, with his legs on either side of Theodore’s head. A cool breeze greeted him when Theodore yanked his pajama pants down to his knees. Michael tugged off Theodore’s boxers in return. Theodore wrested control from Michael’s pants and threw them across the room, then pulled Michael down by his thighs to mouth at him. Michael resisted a moan and licked at Theodore while the other bobbed up and down.

Soon, Michael realized that moaning made it _better_ —the slightest vibration in Theodore’s mouth, in his throat—Michael was determined to keep it going, but he’d have to be more adventurous, since it seemed obvious Theodore was much better at blowjobs than he was. He put his lips around him once more and took him as deep as he possibly could. And then he gagged and pulled off and coughed embarrassingly hard.

Theodore scooted out from under him and smacked his back to help, but that just made it worse.

“Sorry,” Michael puttered out between coughs. “You’re too big.”

Theodore burst into giggles. “First time I’ve heard that one. Pretty, you’ve just got a gag reflex. It’s normal.”

“But you do it so easily!”

Theodore rubbed his back as the coughing returned. “That’s from practice,” he explained. “Poor Pretty…”

Michael’s breath returned to him and he sighed. “I ruined it.”

Theodore smiled at him. “You ain’t ruined nothin’, Pretty. Lie down now. Clear your mind…” He put a hand on Michael’s chest until he lay flat on his back. He tugged off Michael’s shirt, then his own, and tossed both in the corner, murmuring his encouragement. “Out with the negative, in with the positive. Out with the negative…” Theodore leaned over him and kissed his lips, breaking it off suddenly to lean over his cock. “In with the positive!”

Theodore smirked and nearly swallowed his entire length all at once. Michael barely muffled his moan.

“Mmmm! Show off!” he hissed.

Theodore popped off and smiled. “You gonna let me finish or what?”

“Please!”

Theodore tilted his head. “Please what?”

Michael let out an exasperated sigh. “Please do that again and don’t stop…”

Theodore kissed the tip of him with a wicked grin. Michael reached for him and settled for holding onto his shoulder. Theodore indulged himself with one hand and Michael with the other where the talents of his tongue failed, filling the room with soft wet sounds.

Michael shook as he grew close. He buried a hand in Theodore’s hair and tugged.

“Teddy,” he breathed.

Theodore pulled off and wiped his mouth before taking both their cocks and stroking them together. Michael grabbed Theodore’s arm and let out a cry. Theodore groaned, his come joining Michael’s own in stripes across his chest. His breath came in heavy pants.

Slowly, Michael reached up and touched the substance, and then he didn’t know where to wipe it because he didn’t want to get it on the sheets. Theodore smiled at him as he tried to regain his breath.

“You want a towel?”

Michael nodded.

“You okay?” Theodore asked.

“Heart’s beating really fast,” Michael whispered.

Theodore gave a breathy laugh and ran a soothing hand through Michael’s hair. He got up to dig through the mostly-empty laundry basket, pausing briefly to turn on the lamp. He found a hand towel and sat on the edge of the bed, silently admiring Michael for a moment.

“You look so good, Pretty, I almost don’t want to clean you up,” he said.

Michael shook his head and took the towel from him so he could do it himself. “Problem solved.”

“Aww,” Theodore whined.

Michael smiled. “Thanks, Teddy. I think you broke my brain.”

Theodore looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

Michael wiped his hand and let his arms fall to either side, the towel dropping to the floor. “I mean I finally stopped thinking for a minute.”

Theodore laid on his side next to him and traced circles on his skin. “I think that’s normal after sex. But you’re not normal, are you?” He smiled at the last part.

Michael chuckled. “How would I know if I’m not?”

Theodore hummed and tangled his fingers in Michael’s hair. “I guess someone would have to tell you. This hair, for one, is not normal.”

“I know.”

“It’s kinky. And dark.”

Michael snorted. Then he asked softly, “You like it?”

“’Course I like it,” Theodore replied, rubbing Michael’s head, “It’s soft and pretty. Just like you.”

Michael giggled and buried a hand in Theodore’s hair. “Yours isn’t much better, Teddy. It won’t stay down for anything.”

Theodore rolled his eyes. “It stays if I wet it in the morning. But then there’s no fluff. Just a wet squirrel tail on my forehead…”

Michael had to cover his mouth to keep in his laughter. “Teddy, that’s terrible.”

“It’s true!”

“It’s cute like this, I promise.”

Theodore mustered a smile and got up to put his boxers on. “You want yours?” he asked.

“Sure,” Michael said. Theodore tossed them to him and Michael tugged them on as Theodore fixed the covers over him. Michael arranged the pillows and Theodore got in bed beside him. They blushed at each other. Theodore cleared his throat.

“Hey, Pretty, I’ve got a question.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?”

Michael thought about it. “Sometimes. Why?”

Theodore tapped Michael’s temple. “You said you don’t stop thinking under normal circumstances. Right?”

“Right,” Michael said.

“How do you fall asleep? Worryin’ all the time?”

Michael took a little breath and let it go. “Lincoln helps,” he admitted.

“Show me,” Theodore said.

Michael could feel his cheeks warm as he turned and laid his head on Theodore’s chest. Michael closed his eyes as Theodore hugged him, the warmth between them creating the sense of security Michael sought every night.

“Just like this?” Theodore asked.

“Mhm.”

Theodore rubbed his back. “That’s nice.”

Michael wove their legs together and squeezed Theodore’s thin body. “Goodnight, Teddy.”

Theodore kissed his head. “Goodnight, Pretty.”

They slept soundly.

* * *

The next day started with the bliss of sleeping in late on a Saturday morning. Michael only woke at the sound of the telephone ringing. He closed his eyes and ignored it, bringing Theodore closer to him. Theodore made a contented sound, their bodies warm under the shared blankets. Michael drifted off.

Lincoln shook Michael's arm sometime later, phone in hand. "It's for Theodore," he whispered.

Michael blinked groggily and sat up before squeezing Theodore's shoulder. He jumped, then relaxed, and stared at the phone in Lincoln's extended hand.

"Social worker," Lincoln told him.

Theodore sent a tentative glance Michael's way and took the phone. Lincoln tipped his head towards the door and Michael followed him to the kitchen. Michael sat at the counter while Lincoln fixed him a coffee. Lincoln gave his own a sip.

"You sleep well?" he asked casually.

Michael took the coffee Lincoln made and answered equally as casual, "Fine."

Lincoln opened a box of frozen waffles and stuck two in the toaster. "You're not wearing a shirt," he said.

Michael was aware. "So?"

"Sooo," Lincoln emphasized, raising his brows. Michael didn’t say anything. Lincoln leaned over the counter. "Did you?" he whispered.

"Did I what?" Michael replied stubbornly.

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "C'mon, bro."

"I don't know what you mean,  _bro_."

Lincoln gave him a shove and asked, "Did you get laid?"

Michael sipped his coffee to avoid answering. Lincoln waited impatiently as Michael was forced to drink the whole cup. He set it down slowly.

"Well?" Lincoln asked.

"Kind of," Michael said.

"What's 'kind of'? You either did or you didn't," Lincoln stated.

Michael shrugged. "It wasn't anything new, really. Except we weren't in the school bathroom. That was nice."

Lincoln snorted.

"And all our clothes came off this time. That was nice, too."

Lincoln smiled and patted Michael's shoulder. He fixed Michael’s waffles for him and stuck two more in the toaster while Michael stared off into space with a dreamy look. He paused his reminiscing and held out his coffee cup. "What's gotten you so curious, anyway?" he asked.

Lincoln filled his cup as he replied, "Well, you know I've only been with Veronica. Sometimes I wonder what other people are like."

"You wonder what Teddy is like," Michael deadpanned.

"No," Lincoln blurted, "No, no, not at all."

Michael raised his brows.

"I mean, he's great for you," Lincoln said, "I think. And that's great. You know what I mean?"

Michael held his gaze. Lincoln forced a toothy grin. Michael laughed. "You're a dork," he said.

The waffles popped out of the toaster and Lincoln busied himself with buttering them.

“If you want to know what a guy is like, you can just ask,” Michael offered.

Lincoln set down his butter knife. “Who said anything about guys?”

Michael’s lips parted just as Theodore padded into the room and took the high-top chair next to him. He handed the phone back to Lincoln, who passed him a plate of warm syrupy waffles. "Juice or coffee?" Lincoln asked.

"Juice," Theodore answered softly. Michael rubbed his back while Lincoln poured him a glass.

"Everything alright?" Michael asked.

"My mama needs me," he answered, and ate a bite of his waffles. Michael did the same. Lincoln finally plopped his in the toaster.

"She's okay, right?" Michael asked.

"Stop askin' so many questions, Pretty," Theodore replied, although gently. Michael turned to face his food. They ate in silence for a moment.

"My mama has trouble taking care of herself," Theodore said.

Michael observed him as he talked.

"My daddy pitched in sometimes, but it's usually my job to do the caring. And she's been alone for a coupla days."

"Don't feel guilty," Michael told him. "It wasn't safe for you there."

"It is with my daddy in jail…"

"But who's gonna take care of you?" Michael asked. "Buy food, clothes?"

Theodore looked at him and shrugged. "I guess it's up to me."

"We can help you," Michael said. "Right, Linc?"

He gave a nod, but not before Michael saw a flash of worry cross his face.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Theodore insisted.

"Regardless," Michael said, and kissed his cheek. Theodore blushed. A smile tugged at his lips.

* * *

While Lincoln dropped Theodore off at his house, Michael was more intent than ever on securing the money needed for the weekend. The next day would be Sunday—rent's due date, as well as when Lincoln would get a late fee for not paying his medical bill. That was the bare minimum. Any leftovers would cover food and more trips to the laundromat.

The bell chimed behind Michael as he walked inside and up to the front counter of Abruzzi's Pizzeria. It was still early in the day and there weren't many customers in the dining room. John's face fell when he spotted him.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," he said, coming up to the register.

Michael wasn't sure what he meant so he replied, "Could I talk to you privately?"

John gestured to the pizzas being assembled in the back. "I'm working, kid."

Michael put on his best puppy face and leaned against a case of Italian pastries. John crossed his arms.

"Please?" Michael asked, making his eyes big. John caved.

"Pfft, fine. I dunno why I give you the light of day. C'mon." He waved him to the back of the store and shoveled pizzas in and out of the oven as Michael gathered his nerves.

"I need some money quick," Michael said.

John paused and looked Michael over. He gestured for the boys working beside him to leave and said, "Smoke break. Go."

They left without a fuss as one of them took a pack out of his pocket. John watched the back door shut before turning his attention to Michael.

"I told you I don't give loans," he said.

"I know," Michael replied. "I'm asking for another opportunity."

John held his gaze. "How much do you need and how quick?"

"Eight hundred by tomorrow."

John clucked his tongue and put another prepped pizza in the oven. Michael felt its heat on his face.

"I know a way, but you're not going to like it," John told him.

"Try me," Michael said stubbornly.

John scoffed and walked around the packaging table as he threw his apron off to the side. "Trust me, it's not for someone like you."

Michael held his tongue before saying, "I can do it."

"Because you need the money, right?"

Michael nodded. John sighed and sat down on a crate. "C'mere, kid."

Michael sat next to him, wondering how it had come to this despite all his efforts.

"A blowjob's not worth eight hundred," John said quietly. "It's gonna be a few, unless you want a sort of one-and-done deal."

"With… you?" Michael asked.

John shoved him. "No! What do you think I am? I'll just arrange it for you. Make sure you get the money."

Michael felt his skin prickle. "Where?"

"In a car, in the parking lot, probably."

"How many times?"

"I dunno. Ten minimum. And that's charging a lot for a blowjob."

"And the one-and-done deal?"

"Don't make me spell it out for you."

"But it would be just once."

"Once might be half an hour or all night. You can't know."

Michael fought the sickness in his stomach and stood his ground. He had to get the money. "Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"The one-and-done."

John grimaced. "Have you even had a dick in your ass before?" he accused. "It's not nothin'."

Michael looked away. "I'll be fine."

"Take the blowjobs, kid. Fast, easy—"

"Nauseating," Michael interrupted.

"Oh, you think sex with a stranger won't be?"

"It's just one night. I'll forget it."

"No, you won't."

"I have to get that money," Michael said.

"Better you go treasure hunting," John responded, waving his hand.

"I thought you could arrange this," Michael snapped, his blood boiling. "Can you?"

John stood up and looked down at him. "Listen, if I had a thousand dollars for you right now, could you do it?"

Michael rose to his feet. "Tell me what to do."

"Over the table," John ordered.

"On the table," Michael countered.

"No negotiating. Turn around and bend over."

Michael held his breath and turned, slowly leaning over the stainless steel of the table. He felt John come closer and press against his ass. Michael was beginning to think calling his bluff wasn’t such a good idea.

"Money on the table," Michael blurted.

"Huh?"

Michael tapped with his fingers. "I want to see the money."

John scoffed and left for a moment to empty the store's safe. He slapped the cash on the table, its neat pile collapsing as he removed his hand. "Happy?"

Michael nodded slowly. John cleared his throat.

"Take off your pants," he said.

Whatever it took to prove he was serious. Michael unclasped his belt and let his jeans slide down his hips.

"Shirt, too," John added.

Michael undid his buttons and threw off both layers of shirts. John put a hand on his back and pushed him against the cold steel. Michael shivered and set his eyes on the money, fear coursing through his veins. John was the serious one. It wasn’t a bluff at all. He breathed steadily as he worked Michael's white boxers off his hips.

"Wow…"

Michael held perfectly still as John peered between his cheeks.

"Beautiful."

He stuck a finger in his mouth and circled Michael's rim with it. John's employees could return any minute now. Michael curled his hand into a fist and gritted his teeth as John pushed inside.

"Feel that?" he said. "That's the tip of my finger. That's nothin'." He wormed in further and Michael's nails dug into his palm, his eyes glued to the money.

"Hello? Does anybody work here?"

"Shit," John hissed. A customer. He pulled out his finger and tossed Michael's clothes on the table, stuffing the cash in his pocket as he went. "Kid, if you wanna come back after close, we can finish this."

Michael's arms shook as he pulled up his pants. He tried to smile, his lips twitching uncomfortably. "You gonna pay me for getting a finger in?"

John shrugged and thumbed through the money. He gave him a twenty.

"The rest later. If you come, that is," John told him.

"I'll be there," Michael whispered.

John gazed at him and smiled. "Alright. Get outta here."

Michael pulled his button down over his arms and rushed out of the restaurant.

* * *

He could have a thousand dollars in his hands if he went back. Michael was petrified—not by the choice he had to make but because his choice was already made. There was no other way to get a sum of money that large unless a miracle occurred, and Michael knew his family wasn't prone to miracles. As he walked back to the apartment, Lincoln was on his way to Veronica's appointment with her, and they'd be squeezing the last drop of gasoline out of the tank to get there.

Michael thought about what would happen if they lost the apartment. Veronica's parents might take them in, if they weren't pissed at Lincoln for his part in the baby-making process. But would they take Theodore in if he needed it? They weren't any more wealthy than his own mother.

Christina hadn't entered his thoughts for a while, and it was almost a shock when she did. How would she feel about Theodore? Would she care more about Michael's relationship with him than Theodore's wellbeing? It seemed she didn't care about his own wellbeing, if she'd let him leave. If she'd let him turn to John Abruzzi for financial support.

Michael shook his head. It couldn't be that bad. After all, Theodore and John had dated at one point. That didn't necessarily mean John liked to take things at a beginner's pace. Michael unlocked the apartment and sank into the couch. He put his head in his hands and breathed deeply. Then he went to the phone and dialed a number.

He relaxed when a familiar Southern voice picked up on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Teddy. It’s Michael.”

“Hiya, Pretty. Miss me already?”

Michael broke into a smile. “I do. How are you? How’s your mom?”

“I’m good. I did some chores, made the place look nice. Mama’s glad I’m home.”

“Oh, good. So it’s just you two there?”

“Mhm. Daddy’s stuck in a cell with a bail he can’t pay.”

“Is there going to be a trial?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so. I’m not really lookin’ forward to that, though.”

Michael brought the phone with him from the kitchenette to the family room and plopped on the couch. “Sorry I brought it up. It’s not what I called to talk about.”

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m doing fine, Pretty. Miss you though.”

Michael circled his finger over the smooth surface of the phone. “Me too. I need your advice.”

“You want it, I got it,” he said.

Michael gave a light laugh. He looked around the empty family room, eyes settling on his reflection in the cracked TV set. “I’m wondering what you think… about people who do bad things for good reasons. Are they still good people?”

There was a slight pause on Theodore’s side before he said, “I dunno if I have the answer you want, Pretty.”

“I’m listening,” Michael said.

“I’ve done bad things,” Theodore continued softly. “Things I’m not proud of. Things that weren’t necessarily my fault or my idea… But I did them because I love my mama. And sometimes I did them because I love my daddy. You know, I hate the things he’s done to me. And I hate him. But there’s still love there, because how can I hate my own daddy? I can’t. I just can’t—” He broke off and took a sharp breath.

“It’s okay, Teddy,” Michael assured him. “You’re still a good person.”

Theodore’s breathing steadied. “Seems like you have your answer.”

“I have a brave boyfriend,” Michael replied. “Thank you for telling me that. I understand.”

“I can’t fathom how,” Theodore said. “It’s the worst feeling. Like I’m sick inside.”

“It’s not you who’s sick,” Michael insisted. “And I know the feeling.”

“You do?”

“I still love my mother after she hit me. After she hit Lincoln. And I still love Linc after he hit back. I should have been mad, or afraid, but I just forgave him instantly. Like it was nothing.”

“Did you forgive your mama?”

“I don’t know. I just know I can’t go back to her.”

“That sounds best, Pretty.”

“Really?”

“I know you’re afraid of her. I remember.”

Michael gave a sigh. “Okay. You’ve got a home here in case you’re in need of one.”

Theodore chuckled. “Thanks, darlin’. Don’t be too hard on yourself, now.”

“I won’t. I love you.”

“Love you too. Bye, now.”

“Bye.”

Michael hung up and closed his eyes.

* * *

Lincoln came home around ten to a quiet apartment.

"Mikey?" he called.

The light under the bathroom door glowed. Lincoln walked up to it and pushed the door open.

Michael took two fingers out of his mouth and gagged, his body doubling over the sink. "Linc," he sputtered.

Lincoln grabbed his arm and raised it over his head to help with the choking. "Mikey, what are you doing?" he chided.

Michael coughed a few more times and replied weakly, "Practicing."

Lincoln set his arm down and rubbed his back, concern in his face. "Can I give you a tip?"

Michael glanced at him and nodded as another round of coughs took over.

"You don't have to put the whole thing in your mouth. Just take what's comfortable for you and use your hand on the rest."

"That's a… good tip," Michael managed, and curled into Lincoln's chest. Lincoln hugged him.

"You remember what I said about pressure?"

"Mhm."

"Don't do anything you don't want to do," Lincoln reiterated.

"Got it," Michael quipped.

Lincoln looked at him. "You okay?"

Michael wiped his eyes. "Yup."

Lincoln furrowed his brows and cupped a hand to his cheek. "Sure?"

Michael smiled. "Yeah. I forgot to tell you, I'm having dinner with a friend tonight."

Lincoln looked suspicious. "You need a ride?"

"No, I'll be fine. It's not far."

"Who's your friend?"

Michael scrambled for a name. "Alex."

Lincoln relaxed. "Tell Alex I said hi."

Michael smiled. "I will. I gotta go."

Lincoln bent and kissed his head. "Have fun, Mikey. Don't be too late."

"I won't." He wiped his mouth and spritzed on cologne before leaving the bathroom. "See you later."

"See ya."

Michael walked to Abruzzi's and glanced inside through the glass windows. He spotted John putting up chairs in the low lighting. He knocked on the door.

John looked up and smiled. He went to the door and unlocked it, ushering Michael in with a wave of his hand. Michael stuffed his hands in his pockets as John locked the door behind him.

"I'm just finishing up," he said. "We'll go to my place, if that's okay."

Michael realized he'd been picturing himself back on that cold steel table for the past few hours. In a way, the pizza shop was more familiar than any other place he could imagine.

"That's fine," Michael answered.

John swept the floors as Michael sat in the corner booth. He wondered if Theodore had ever met him after hours like this.

"Okay," John announced, after checking his pockets for his wallet and keys. "Ready?"

Michael nodded. They went out the back door and down the block to John's car. He unlocked the door to his apartment and invited Michael inside.

"Did you eat yet?" John asked, tossing his coat on a chair.

"No," Michael muttered.

"What? Speak up, kid."

Michael cleared his throat and said, "No."

John rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, well, uh, if you want something, I'm having dinner."

Michael fidgeted with a piece of fuzz he'd found in his pocket and nodded. It seemed impolite to decline, even if he didn't think he could force the food down. John made two bowls of Cocoa Puffs with milk, and Michael almost felt like he was at home again.

"Sit," John said, gesturing to the couch as he brought the cereal bowls into the living room. Michael sat beside him, careful not to touch his personal space. John handed him his cereal bowl and turned on the television.

It was some senseless made-for-TV horror flick with cheesy effects, but Michael couldn't help being on edge anyway. He ate his dinner quietly and watched John do the same, save a few laughs at the expense of the characters dying on screen. John drank his milk and set the bowl off to the side, wiping his mouth before asking, "You like this?"

Michael couldn't find his voice now. It must have frozen in his throat.

"I know it's not the best. Actually kind of funny."

Was this small talk? Michael swallowed and hoped he could snap out of his trance. After all, John hadn't bent him over any surfaces yet.

John shrugged. "I'm going to shower, so here's the remote. Change it if you want, I don't care." He got up and stripped off his shirt as he went to the bathroom.

Michael blinked and gazed at the bloody images on the TV without comprehension. This was going to happen. Not the way he expected, maybe nicer than originally planned, but it was going to happen. Michael turned off the TV. What if he called Lincoln to pick him up? Or just ran out the door? Or said he changed his mind? John would probably respect that. But he wouldn't get the money. He needed it. Lincoln needed it. He had to get it. Stealing it wasn't an option.

John stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, his skin shining and hair dripping. He was handsome in a scary way, older and more muscular, with a pair of the most intimidating eyes Michael had ever seen. He could only be more intimidating once he removed the towel.

"Kid," he said, and curled a finger towards himself, "C'mere."

Michael brushed himself off and went to him. John steered him towards the bedroom and sat him down on the bed.

"You still want to do this?" he asked.

"Yes," Michael whispered.

"Okay," John said lowly. "Take everything off."

Michael's heart beat so fast he thought he might evaporate. He put his clothes in a neat pile and waited. John smiled and tossed his towel in a corner.

"Cute. You wanna give me a lift?"

Michael took the cue and dropped to his knees. He'd just do what Lincoln said. There was no point in trying to take it all anyway, that much was clear. John's breath quickened, just barely. He tapped Michael's shoulders.

"Alright, kid. On the bed."

Michael's legs moved automatically. His brain stalled out when he sat on the edge of the mattress, unsure how to position himself.

"On your belly, alright? Perfect. Get comfy."

Michael tucked a pillow under his chin and held onto it. John settled behind him and popped open a bottle. Michael could hear the rumble of his voice behind him. 

"Relax, okay?"

"Okay," Michael said.

"Are you relaxed?"

"Yes," Michael lied.

John pushed a slick finger inside. Michael grimaced. The finger moved in and out hesitantly.

"You gotta relax," John admonished.

"I am," Michael shot back.

John clucked his tongue and added another finger. Michael squeezed his pillow. Somehow it was how he imagined it would be, but not. Surely it would be easier with someone he loved. John wasn't a stranger, but he wasn't much of a friend either. He tried to imagine this with Teddy, or Alex, or maybe even Fernando—but the only person he was really comfortable with in his entirety was at home waiting for him. If he was naked, Lincoln would clothe him; if he was in pain, Lincoln would comfort him. And this was only hurting more. Michael hid his face in his pillow and tried to breathe.

"You're robbing me blind, you know that?" John joked, chuckling. "A thousand dollars…"

It was for Lincoln, Michael reminded himself. For the two of them. So they could live together without fear of punishment, of humiliation, of pain—

John worked a third finger in and Michael let out a cry, making him pause.

"You okay, kid?"

Michael's shoulders bobbed as he sobbed into his pillow.

John sighed and turned him over. Michael pushed at him.

"Hey, hey, relax," John blurted. "I'm stopping. See?"

Michael's brows pinched as tears poured from his eyes. He'd lost it all. He couldn't do this. John lay beside him and wiped his cheeks. His voice was soft.

"Don't cry, _bello_. I got a question for you."

"Not anymore," Michael said, his breath erratic.

"Huh?"

"Your question. If I'm a virgin. Not. Any. More."

"Oh," John breathed, almost as a laugh. He put a hand on Michael's cheek so he could look in his eyes. "I don't care about that."

"You don't?"

"I mean, I already assumed that was the case, you being Teddy’s boyfriend and all. You may have made assumptions about me…”

Michael made a face, confused.

"Can you keep a secret?" John asked.

Michael nodded and ran his fingers across his eyes, although it didn't do much good.

"Teddy never let me do that. For us, it was the other way around."

Michael sniffled. "What?"

"So if you want to keep our deal, you still can. You want to?"

Michael took a sharp breath. "You mean I get to top?"

John rolled his eyes. "Yes. But go take a shower. You need to relax. I don't want your tears all over me."

Michael wiped his eyes once more. "You're serious?"

"Not if you make it a big deal. Go on. Shower. I'll be here."

Michael got out of bed and followed John's advice. He was there when Michael got out, with his skin flushed and wet from head to toe. John pulled him down to him and said, "I'd like to kiss these pretty lips."

Michael managed a smile and a nod, although he was sick with nerves. John gave him a light kiss.

"Let me touch you?" he asked.

Michael took a breath and nodded.

John reached for his soft cock and stroked him gently, pressing kisses to his mouth and neck every now and then. The hand at the back of his neck trailed down his arm and brought his hand to John's eyes.

"You have such long fingers."

He put two in his mouth and sucked on them as Michael's eyes widened. John smiled and pulled the wet fingers out. "Don't be shy, okay? I'm a big boy." He leaned back and propped his legs up. 

Michael held his breath and pressed his fingers into him as far as they comfortably fit. 

"Oh!" John blurted.

Michael started to pull his fingers out, thinking he'd hurt him. John lurched forward and grabbed his wrist.

"Uh uh. Right there, _bello_. Oh, that's the good spot…” He flopped against the pillows and grabbed a handful of the sheets. 

Michael couldn't help but grin. There was a lot of power in his fingertips. And John liked it. He circled the same spot from before until John pushed him back with his foot.

"Ready when you are," he said.

Michael glanced around for the lube and worked some onto his cock.

"How do you want me?" John asked him.

Michael felt dizzy. Cautiously, he settled between John's legs. "Is this okay?"

"Uh huh." John put his arms around him. "You're a brave one, huh?"

Michael blushed.

"You like kisses?" John demonstrated with a quick peck. Michael nodded.

"You like your nipples squeezed?" He pinched one and Michael squawked and rubbed it out.

"No," Michael said, "Don't do that."

John laughed and hitched his legs up some more. "Go on, kid. Not gonna bite you."

Michael swallowed harshly and guided his cock into John. The older man gave a groan.

"Good, kid, that's good… Move."

Michael inched back and forth for a few moments, trying not to come right on the spot.

"Harder, _bello_."

Michael propped himself up more and did what John said. John moaned and closed his eyes. Michael kept up the pace, though his heart pounded rapidly.

"Mm, harder."

Michael didn't know how anyone could take this level of force. Each thrust was like a shock to him. John grinned and tugged Michael down to kiss him. Michael could feel his hard cock pressed between their stomachs and closed his eyes. It was too much. He eased his movements and tried to breathe.

"Oh, kid, don't stop. Please."

Slowly, Michael worked up to the ferocity of before, the sounds between them overwhelming and incessant. John gripped the sheets and stroked himself with his free hand, sweat dripping down his blissful face. Michael covered his mouth as he came.

It was a few seconds before Michael could hear beyond the rush of blood in his ears. John had cradled him in his arms and licked into his mouth despite his heavy panting. He met John's gray eyes. 

"Fingers," John directed, putting Michael's hand at his entrance. "Mouth here." He gripped his cock and rubbed the tip.

Michael still hadn't caught his breath when he put his mouth around John, or when be dipped his fingers in his own come. His brain had finally ceased to overwork the mechanics of it, searching for patterns and meaning where there weren’t any. It was just sensation, and taste, and noise, culminating in that higher-than-heaven feeling.

John gave a deep groan as he came, and Michael felt kinda proud as it splashed on his tongue before he choked on the taste. He let his fingers tease John's sweet spot for as long as the man could stand it, stopping when he yelled, "Enough! Mercy!"

Michael stayed still until John pulled him against his chest. It rose and fell heavily with his breath.

"Not so bad, huh?" John asked.

It felt nice against his chest. Familiar. Almost. Michael twirled his finger in a patch of hair above John's heart. "Could we do it again?" he asked.

John gave a great bellowing laugh and kissed Michael's cheek as he turned on his side. " _Bello_ , I don't have another thousand for you."

Michael reddened for even thinking the thought. He was tempted to tug the blankets over himself. John stroked his cheek.

"Don't be embarrassed. It was too good a deal to pass up, right? Here." He got out of bed and tugged the money out of his wallet. "Nine hundred eighty dollars."

Michael sat up and took the money. He felt hollow inside. "My brother's waiting for me," he said.

John nodded. "Okay. I'm gonna clean up. You get dressed."

Michael watched him leave the room before moving for his clothes.

* * *

The ride home was quiet. They parked outside the apartment as the moon shined above them. Michael opened the car door.

"See ya around, kid," John called.

Michael mustered a smile and shut the door. John drove away as Lincoln came out to say hi.

"He's in a hurry," Lincoln said, eyeing the car as it sped away.

Michael shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like lying to Lincoln. "Well, you know. He has to study."

Lincoln shut the door behind them and asked, "How was your date?"

Michael worked off his button down on his way to the bathroom. "Good. But I'm exhausted."

Lincoln followed a few steps behind. "It is late," he stated.

Michael turned around and held onto the doorframe. "Do you want to ask me something?" 

Lincoln's lips parted. "Is something wrong? Your eyes look red."

Michael shut the door behind him and started the shower.

"Mikey," Lincoln called.

"I'm tired," Michael said. "Be out in a minute."

"Okay, buddy."

Michael let out a deep sigh. He opened the cabinet under the sink and stashed the money in a tub that held razors and q-tips and other small toiletries. Tomorrow he'd tell Lincoln he won a raffle at school and present the money like a gift. Looking at it, he wondered if a thousand dollars was all he was worth. Suddenly it didn't seem like so much money.

Michael took off his clothes and got in the shower.

Lincoln was reading an old comic book when Michael got out of the shower and came to the bedroom. He flipped through the pages nonchalantly as Michael got dressed and settled in beside him.

"Linc," Michael called after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Will you, uh…”

Lincoln set the comic book on the nightstand. "Yeah?"

Michael pressed his lips together. "Turn out the light?"

Lincoln reached for the lamp and clicked it off. Michael took a deep breath.

"Hold me?" he asked.

Lincoln turned and hugged Michael, shielding him with his greater build. "Are you okay?" he murmured.

"Yes."

"Don't lie," Lincoln said.

Michael shifted and snuggled against him. "I am now."

Lincoln kissed his cheek. "Alright. Get some sleep."

Michael drifted off in seconds.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, frabjous day! My perfectionism took a break long enough for me to post this! Sorry for the wait (again), and thanks for comments and kudos. Enjoy :)

Michael woke up to an empty bed and a loneliness so strong he felt like his chest was caving in. There was no crane on his nightstand.

“Linc?” he called out.

A disembodied voice called back, “Yeah?”

Michael sighed in relief and found Lincoln in the kitchen. He hugged his brother tight, exclaiming, "You're home!"

Lincoln ruffled his hair. "Boss gave me the day off. I've got some news you're gonna wanna hear."

Michael let him go and glanced at his serious expression. "Okay."

Lincoln had him sit on the couch. Michael watched him carefully as he rubbed his jaw.

"There is no baby," he said.

"What?" Michael asked. "Did she—"

"No," Lincoln said, "There never was a baby. The doc said Veronica either took an old test or waited too long to look at it."

"It was a false positive," Michael stated.

Lincoln sat back on the couch, the cushions threatening to swallow him. "Yeah."

"What about her period?" Michael asked.

"Stress," Lincoln said. "She got it yesterday." He gave a little laugh. "She was so upset, you know, for misleading me or whatever. I told her it was fine, bought her some chocolate."

Michael chuckled. Lincoln mustered a smile, though Michael could see through it. He clamped a hand to Lincoln’s shoulder and squeezed. "It's one less thing to worry about," he said.

"I know," Lincoln muttered.

"It's okay if you're sad," he added.

Lincoln glanced at him and scrubbed a hand across his face. "It's more than that."

Michael shifted closer to him and rubbed his neck. Lincoln groaned. Michael smiled. "Tell me," he said gently.

Lincoln shrugged and clasped his hands together. He looked at Michael. "I don't know what my purpose is," he confessed. "I thought this might be it."

"Oh," Michael breathed. He thought a moment. "You don't know how much I need you."

"You're smart, Michael. You don't need me." He sounded so sure.

"I do," Michael insisted. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He leaned in and kissed Lincoln's cheek.

Lincoln smiled and held his hand to Michael's, the pair keeping his shoulder warm. "You love me too much," he murmured.

Michael shook his head. "Not enough."

Lincoln held his gaze for a moment and cleared his throat as he turned away. Michael wondered if he'd said something wrong.

"Linc?"

Lincoln held a fist to his mouth as he coughed. "Just an itch in my throat," he replied.

Michael smiled awkwardly. Lincoln pulled him into a hug, the two of them toppling sideways on the couch as Michael laughed. Lincoln smoothed a hand over his cheek.

"I know you've been stressed lately," he said.

Michael nodded. "Rent's due today."

Lincoln pinched Michael's ear. "Yup. So I'm gonna make things right today, okay? We'll fill up the tank, get groceries, and anything else you need. You good on school supplies?"

"Uh huh," Michael said, then took a breath. "Speaking of school, I entered a raffle last week and won."

Lincoln grinned. "That's cool, Mikey. What'd you win?"

"A thousand dollars," Michael said, smiling slyly to really sell it. "And I want you to have it."

Lincoln's eyes went wide. "What? Mike, no."

Michael tapped his chest. "Think of it like a gift. My thank you for everything you've done. I have more saved up, too. To pay you back."

Lincoln wrapped his arms around him. "You don't owe me anything."

"It's only fair you let me contribute to the college fund," Michael argued. "If it is  _our_  savings."

Lincoln narrowed his eyes, then sighed. "You got me. It's gonna be spent on bills, though, you know?"

"That's fine," Michael said. Success. He smiled despite himself.

"I won't spend it on drugs," Lincoln assured him.

"Oh, Linc," Michael said softly, "I didn't think you would."

Lincoln gave him a small nod. Michael took his hand and looked at the circular burn in his skin. He turned Lincoln's hand and watched the light shine off the scab.

"You should cover this," he advised.

"I know, it's ugly."

Michael's lips parted. He smiled. "I meant that you should keep it clean so it doesn't get infected."

Lincoln shrugged. Michael rubbed the back of his hand.

"If there's some money left over and you wanna get a beer or something, I don't care," Michael told him.

Lincoln gave him a squeeze with his free arm as he turned to get up, dumping Michael into the crack of the couch cushions. "If there's any left over, I'm spending it on you," he declared, putting his arms up to stretch. "Get ready. We're going shopping."

Michael rolled off the couch gracelessly, giggling as he went. Lincoln shook his head and claimed the shower.

* * *

They hit the local ninety-nine cents store first and stocked up on toiletries and frozen dinners. Lincoln snuck a bag of M&Ms and a set of sketching pencils into the cart when Michael wasn’t looking.

Next stop was the gas station outside the grocery store. Lincoln gave Michael a couple bucks and asked for the usual.

Michael walked up to the store hesitantly, half-expecting Theodore to be lounging by the slushie station, lips cherry-red and smirking. It felt like a fist was closing around his heart.

He’d cheated. On someone he loved very much. With said someone’s ex-boyfriend. _For money._

Michael hung his head, avoiding the eyes of the cashier as he went to get Lincoln’s hot dog.

He joined Lincoln in the truck and handed him his snack in a paper tray. Lincoln furrowed his brows and asked, “You didn’t get one?”

“I’m not hungry,” Michael said.

Lincoln observed him a moment longer before starting the engine and scouting out a parking spot. At the grocery store, Lincoln tossed whatever they couldn’t find in the ninety-nine cents store into the cart. Michael just strolled alongside him, hands in his pockets.

“Do you want cinnamon rolls?” Lincoln asked, holding up a metal tube.

“I dunno,” Michael muttered.

“Mike. Cinnamon rolls.”

Michael looked at him and shrugged. The initial relief at being able to buy whatever they needed and some of what they wanted had worn off, replaced with a gnawing guilt. Desserts bought with his body weren’t deserved. It put a bad taste in his mouth just thinking about it.

Lincoln plopped the rolls in the cart. They turned into an aisle as Lincoln asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Michael said.

Lincoln stopped pushing the cart and faced him. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Michael eyed a magazine just behind him with the heading _5 Signs He’s Cheating on You._ He glanced at Lincoln and then at his scuffed-up tennis shoes.

Lincoln held a hand to his cheek. “Tell me later, okay?”

Michael felt the imprint of John’s hand just under Lincoln’s. He didn’t think he could bear to see Lincoln look at him differently than he was now, with such tenderness and love. When he told him what he’d done, Lincoln would only have disgust for him.

Lincoln’s hand left his cheek and they moved on to the soda aisle. He didn’t get another peep out of Michael for the rest of the shopping trip.

* * *

The boys arrived home to a front door that was left open a crack. They stopped and stared at it, their arms full of grocery bags.

"We locked the door," Michael said, answering Lincoln's thoughts. A hand on his chest stopped him from going inside.

"I'll check it out," Lincoln said lowly. "You stay there." He set his bags on the doorstep.

"Linc," Michael tried to object, "What if—"  _they were still in there?_

Lincoln held a finger to his lips and slipped through the doorway. Seconds stretched into a long, fretful minute before Lincoln returned. "There's no one in there," he announced, "except Stormy. She's fine."

Michael made to go inside. Lincoln put two hands on his shoulders.

"It's not good, buddy," he murmured. "We were robbed."

Michael swallowed a lungful of air and pushed past him, ignoring the overturned couch cushions and fridge left ajar as he raced for the cabinet under the bathroom sink.

"Mike!" Lincoln called.

Michael knelt by the thrown open cabinet doors and let out a sob.

Lincoln stood in the bathroom entryway, searching for what was missing. Michael's breath came faster and faster. Lincoln stepped closer, concerned.

"Mikey, Mikey, don't panic. We're okay. There's no one here now," he tried to soothe.

Michael's eyes caught up with him and produced a waterfall of tears. "The money!" he cried.

Lincoln knelt by him. "We still have the college fund, Mikey. Well, most of it. It's in a bank account…"

Michael shook his head, giving Lincoln pause. "What money?" he asked.

Michael hid his face in his hands, fingers curled into fists. "I—" His voice was punctuated by his gasps. "I s-slept with John Abruzzi for a— a thousand dollars. It's gone."

"What?"

Michael curled his knees to his chest and wept.

"Mikey, look at me. You did what?"

He shook his head.

Lincoln reached for him and said, "I'm gonna pick you up, okay?"

Michael held out his arms.

Lincoln wrapped his arms around Michael's shoulders and under his knees. He stood as Michael curled into him and carried him to the couch, then sat down with him in his lap. Gently, he removed Michael's hands from his face and wiped away his tears.

"Linc-oln," Michael hiccupped. 

"Shh, buddy. Try to breathe."

Michael felt pitiful. Lincoln continued to stroke his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Linc," Michael confessed. "I'm so sorry. It was a mistake."

Lincoln's fingers followed the tears down his neck and back behind his ears. "Why, buddy? Why would you do something like that?"

"So we could pay rent," he whimpered. "Now we can't..."

Lincoln smoothed a hand through his hair, back and forth. "Mikey, it's gonna be okay. I swear."

Michael nodded, but the tears were unstoppable. Lincoln hugged him to his chest.

"Shh… Don't cry. I've got you, Mikey." He rubbed his back and kissed his cheek. Michael hugged him back. Lincoln waited a moment for Michael to catch his breath, smoothing circles through his t-shirt till he stopped jolting from his heavy sobs and sniffled instead.

"Mikey?" Lincoln called.

"Yeah-h?"

"John Abruzzi paid you a thousand dollars?" he asked quietly.

Michael swallowed thickly. "Yes."

Lincoln faced him, a hand cupped behind his neck. "Did he hurt you?"

Michael's breath hitched. He looked away as Lincoln's thumb stroked his cheek. "Yes, at first," he said.

Lincoln bit his lip and turned away, eyes glistening. Michael reached for his hand.

"But then things got better. It wasn't so bad," he explained.

Lincoln took a sharp breath. "I'm going to kill him."

"No, Linc," Michael urged, tightening his grip on his hand, "I went to him. He was trying to help."

"That's bullshit," Lincoln spat. "And two crimes at once. He should be thrown in Joliet."

"He paid me a lot more than a stranger would," Michael argued. "He tried to make me comfortable."

Lincoln put a hand over Michael's heart. "Shut up, okay? Shut up. You need to understand something. What you did is prostitution. You're a minor. That also makes it statutory rape. Okay, Mikey? Do you understand why I'm upset?"

Tears bloomed afresh in Michael's eyes and he hated all of it. "I understand," he said, his nose unbearably drippy, "I did it for you."

Lincoln looked like a guppy, his mouth open but no words coming forth. He cradled Michael and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you.”

Michael’s lips quivered. He looked at Lincoln through wet lashes as his brother continued, "You don't have to do that for me, under any circumstances. I don't care if we're on the streets. You leave the finances to me, okay? Have faith in me."

Michael nodded. "I love you too," he blubbered, tucking his face into Lincoln's shoulder.

"I know, I know," Lincoln reassured him, swirling his fingers between Michael’s shoulders. He picked him up and carried him to their bedroom, saying, "It's all gonna be okay. I'm gonna take care of you." He tucked Michael in and wiped his face with a damp towel after a trip to the kitchen. Michael clutched at his blankets and tried to get ahold of himself. 

"Rest, buddy," Lincoln soothed. "I'm gonna keep you safe. Don't you worry about anything."

Michael managed a smile. "I'll try."

Lincoln set the towel to the side and brought him a glass of water. Michael drank it as Lincoln asked, "Is there anything else I should know about?"

Michael scrubbed a hand across his face for the millionth time. "No."

"No lasting injuries?"

"No," Michael said, "I'm okay. I don't really know why I'm crying so much."

Lincoln held his hand. "It's okay," he said. "You know I'm here for you?"

Michael nodded.

"And I don't think any less of you?"

Michael held a finger to his eye. "Linc, you're gonna make me cry again."

"I'm serious, buddy. I get it. It's been tough. You made a tough decision. But you don't have to do it again."

Michael let out a breath he seemed to be holding since his night with John. "Okay."

Lincoln squeezed his hand. "I'm gonna call somebody about the apartment. We'll get new locks for this place."

"You're not leaving, are you?" Michael asked.

Lincoln swiped a thumb under Michael's eye. "No, buddy."

Michael smiled. "Thank you, Linc."

Lincoln smiled back softly. "Rest. You need it."

Michael nodded and turned on his side, feeling a tear escape and skitter across his face. But now he knew everything would be okay. Because Lincoln said so. He had faith.

* * *

A hand on his shoulder woke Michael up. He turned and looked at Lincoln above him. Lincoln sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed Michael's back lightly.

"Hey," he said, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Michael replied. Sleeping helped. He'd been far too exhausted from the weekend's activities, and emotionally drained from what seemed like a month's worth of troubles.

"I'm glad," Lincoln murmured, a soft look on his face.

Michael put a hand under his pillow and gazed at him. The tingles from Lincoln's fingers were beginning to relax him completely. Michael closed his eyes and listened to the friction of his clothing.

"Mikey," Lincoln called, squeezing his shoulder.

"Don't stop," Michael grumbled.

Lincoln resumed the back rub and Michael grinned.

"I want to ask you something," Lincoln told him.

Michael remembered his breakdown from earlier and sighed. "Ask away.” 

Lincoln cleared his throat. "I understand why you lied to me,” he began, “But I think we should stop lying to each other. Is that a reasonable request?"

Michael looked up at him with pinched brows. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Lincoln shrugged. “I dunno, Mikey. Everyone lies. I don't want to be your controlling older brother, but I feel like it would be better for us."

"I think so too."

Lincoln nodded after a moment. "Alright."

There was something that had been bugging Michael, little hints that he figured Lincoln didn’t even know he was dropping. It gave Michael hope that his brother was more like him than either of them knew. "I never liked lying to you," he confessed.

"Same here," Lincoln responded.

Michael reached for Lincoln's hand and held it close to his heart. "Do you remember when I came out to you?" he asked.

"Like yesterday," Lincoln said.

"I was so scared of what you'd think of me," Michael explained, "but I had no reason to. You told me nothing changed. You still loved me."

"Of course I still loved you," Lincoln said defensively.

Michael smiled. "Linc, I love you no matter what. If you're unsure, you can tell me."

Something flickered on Lincoln's face too quickly for Michael to read. He shifted like he was going to get up, but Michael grabbed his hand.

"It's okay if you're not ready," he said.

“No,” Lincoln blurted. “Don’t change the subject. You lied to me. You weren’t with Alex last night. You didn’t win a raffle.”

Michael nodded reluctantly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest. What I’m saying is, I can tell something’s bothering you. I’m here for you, like you are for me.”

Lincoln looked at him for a moment, the tension in his shoulders unraveling. The words came slowly. "How did you know?"

"That I liked boys?"

Lincoln nodded.

Michael sat up, petting Lincoln's hand as he thought. "I looked at a guy and I thought, he's hot."

Lincoln smiled and asked, "Okay, but how did you know you liked him? You didn't just want to  _be_  like him?"

Michael traced the tendons in Lincoln's hands down to the calluses on his fingers. "Sometimes it can be hard to tell. Why don't you tell me what you like about him?"

"Um…"

"His face?"

"Yeah."

"Body?"

Lincoln hesitated. "I don't know."

"That's okay," Michael encouraged. "Is he nice to you? Does he listen to your problems?"

"I love Veronica," Lincoln said honestly.

Michael chewed his lip. "It's okay to have a close male friend," he offered.

Lincoln rubbed his head. "But how do I know?"

Michael didn't stutter over the solution. "Next time you've got a hard-on—"

"Mike!"

"Listen! Next time you're hard, think about him. If it turns you off, great. If it turns you on, you'll know."

Lincoln looked uncomfortable. "What if he's just a friend, and I like other guys?" he asked.

Michael put his arms around him. Lincoln sighed.

"It's okay if you don't know right now," Michael whispered, holding him tight.

Lincoln mustered a smile for him. "How did you get to be so sweet?"

"I learned from the best," Michael said, grinning wide. Lincoln’s cheeks colored, just slightly. The phone rang.

Lincoln patted Michael's arm and got up to answer it. He returned and handed the phone to Michael, saying, "It's for you."

Michael took the phone and answered, "This is Michael."

"Papi! Are you coming?"

Michael mouthed the question to himself as he tried to figure out what Fernando was talking about. His “I'm off house arrest” party. Michael looked at his watch and jumped off the bed.

"It's at five, right?" Michael feigned, digging through his closet for a change of clothes.

"No, three! Do you need the address again?"

"No, I got it! Sorry, Papi. I'm on my way."

"Maricruz is waiting for you, you know!"

"Me? Why?"

"To thank you for getting us back together. So hurry up!"

"Alright, I'm coming!"

Fernando hung up, leaving Michael with an arm in one sleeve and pants halfway up his legs. Lincoln laughed at him.

"Plans you forgot about?" he asked. 

"Yup." Michael tugged on a light sweater.

"Who's Papi?" Lincoln asked, smirking.

Michael tossed a bundled-up pair of socks at him. It bounced off Lincoln's chest. "My Puerto Rican friend Fernando."

"You're doing well this year," Lincoln remarked. "Last year you kept to yourself."

"Well, sometimes you find friends, and sometimes the friends find you. Does this look okay?"

Lincoln looked him over. “A little preppy. Here.” He took his leather jacket out of the closet and handed it to Michael, who substituted it for his sweater over a white t-shirt. He held out his arms.

“Better?”

Lincoln smiled. “Like a lady killer. Want a ride?”

“Yes, please.”

Michael followed Lincoln to the truck, noticing the apartment was mostly back in order. Lincoln must’ve fixed up the place while he slept.

Thoughts of the intruder dissolved as Michael was greeted by a bubbly Fernando at his front door. He waved at Lincoln as he drove away and followed Fernando inside.

* * *

A silver bell rang above Lincoln's head as he burst through the door of Abruzzi's. He’d gone straight there after dropping Michael off, unbeknownst to him. Lincoln marched behind the counter and up to the man himself, decking him across the face before he could react. His customers gasped.

"That's for my brother, you sick fuck," Lincoln spat.

John rubbed his jaw and stood up straight, a smirk skirting across his lips. "That's a good one, did you rehearse it on your way over here?"

Lincoln swung to strike him again but John caught his arm in an iron grip. "Once was enough, don't you think?"

Lincoln socked him in the stomach with his free arm and John doubled over, only to grab Lincoln by his hair and drag him to the restaurant’s open furnace. Lincoln reached out to stop his plunge into the fire and burned his palms on the oven. He hissed, flames licking at his nose as John pushed him closer to the unbearable heat.

"Don't ever hit me again, do you understand?"

"Let go of me," Lincoln snarled.

John shook him, tearing the hair out of his scalp. "You make another move on me, you burn. Got it?"

Lincoln wouldn't give him the satisfaction of an answer, he thought. His skin dripped with sweat. John pushed him in further and Lincoln gave in, the heat agonizing.

"Alright!"

John whirled him around and twisted Lincoln's arm behind his back as he shoved him onto the packaging table, his coworkers standing awkwardly at the sidelines. John ignored them, his eyes intent on Lincoln, a hand still balled in his hair.

"Hey, this reminds me of something," he said, smashing Lincoln's cheek against the table, "Oh, right. Your little brother offered himself to me just like this."

Lincoln tried to wrench out of his grip unsuccessfully. "I'll kill you for what you did!"

"That would be a bad idea if you ever needed money again," he said, adding, "God has endowed me with many gifts, and not just wealth."

The innuendo wasn't lost on Lincoln. In fact, his  _endowment_  was too close for comfort, the table was jammed into his own, his arm was aching, and his scalp was raw. It only fueled his rage.

"Go fuck someone your own age," Lincoln said.

John chuckled and loosened his hold on Lincoln's hair, running it through his fingers instead. "Maybe I will."

Lincoln jerked away. "I'll have Michael call the police."

John leaned down by his ear. "Another bad idea. They'd be as kind to him as they would to me.”

Lincoln frowned, knowing there was truth to that.

"Rachel is calling the pigs right now," John said, "so if you want to get away, I suggest you forget the whole thing."

Lincoln closed his eyes, defeated.

Softly, sweetly, John asked, "Can you forgive me, Lincoln?"

Lincoln grunted.

"I want to hear you say it."

Lincoln swallowed hard, his dignity crumpled up and stomped into the dirt. "I forgive you."

John let him go and turned him around, smiling smugly. He held Lincoln by the arms as sirens wailed in the distance. Lincoln resisted the urge to bolt, staring him down instead. John crossed his arms and tipped his head towards the back door. 

Lincoln curled his hands into fists and walked out, avoiding the stares of the Abruzzi's employees. He felt John's eyes hard on his back as the door swung shut behind him.

* * *

Fernando’s house was small, but inviting, and Michael was surprised by how quickly the time flew by when all he and the other guests had done was talk and eat junk food and drink. Michael had opted for the non-alcoholic punch, even though the game they were playing capitalized on the participants getting drunk.

"Never have I ever... kissed a girl," Maricruz said, smiling as the boys rolled their eyes, about to drink.

"Wait, wait, wait, what about your mamá?" Fernando pointed out, making everyone halt, cups at their lips.

"Family doesn't count," Maricruz insisted. "Drink up!"

Fernando groaned dramatically, catching Michael's eye as he sipped his drink and Michael didn't.

"Hey, Papi, you've never kissed a girl?"

Michael blushed and shook his head. Fernando grinned.

"We're playing Spin the Bottle after this!" he announced.

"Why don't we play it now?" a thin-nosed girl named Tina suggested, wiggling her brows at C-Note, who Michael discovered Fernando had known since middle school.

"But we didn't finish this game," Maricruz whined, "Fernando…"

"Spin the Bottle! Spin the Bottle!"

"Alright, alright," Fernando said. "One round of Spin the Bottle, then back to Never Have I Ever. Okay, mi amor?"

Maricruz nodded, smiling as Fernando kissed her, their lips smacking loudly.

"The game hasn't started yet," C-Note teased. Michael gave a nervous laugh.

Fernando held up a finger and stood, snagging an empty bottle from the counter and setting it on the floor in the center of the circle. "Michael, you go first," he said.

"That's alright, Papi," Michael tried.

"It's just for fun, bro," Fernando encouraged. "Don't worry if you get Maricruz. I won't beat you up."

Maricruz gave a giggle, turning her big brown eyes on Michael as if she wouldn't mind a kiss from him. Michael spun the bottle. It landed on Fernando. Fernando laughed.

"Try again so you can get your lady kiss," he said.

Michael spun again. It slowed as it passed Tina and clearly landed on Fernando.

"One more time, Papi," he said.

Michael swallowed and spun the bottle with more force in the twist of his hand. Fernando. Again.

"The bottle has spoken," Maricruz declared.

"Two times means you gotta use tongue," Tina said, "What does three times mean?"

"Papi, you don't have to," Fernando told him, holding up his hands.

"Man, just get it over with," C-Note said, "It's my turn next."

Michael frowned, not at the teasing, but at Fernando's apparent reluctance.

"Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!" the girls chanted, nudging C-Note to get him to join in.

"I'll kiss him if you won't," C-Note said blandly.

Fernando laughed at that, and tapped his cheek for Michael to kiss. "C'mon. Lay one on me."

That was enough for Michael. He crawled over to him, Fernando still beaming, and leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek. Fernando turned and stole one on the lips. The circle cheered and clapped.

"Finally!" C-Note spun the bottle as Michael sat back on his heels, shocked. It landed on Tina and they shared a sloppy kiss. Michael stared at Fernando as Tina reached for the bottle, unsure if it was the game making fun of him or the players.

Fernando patted Michael's cheek lightly. "Just for fun, remember?"

"Michael, are you still playing?" Tina asked. The bottle had landed where he'd been sitting.

Michael forced a smile and went back to his spot. Tina came over and started to lean in, freezing when Michael's look turned icy. She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and sat back.

Fernando's turn. He got Michael.

"Must be destiny or some shit, bro," C-Note taunted.

"I think Fernando's already found his soulmate," Maricruz countered, nibbling on his ear. Fernando pulled away, smiling.

"Whaddya say, Papi? Round two?"

Michael let out a breath and shrugged. "Why not?"

Fernando came to him and cupped both hands to his cheeks, not letting him breathe as he kissed him passionately. Tina squealed. C-Note gave a tired sigh. Fernando ran his hands through Michael's hair and turned his head from side to side, exaggerating the make-out session. Maricruz huffed.

"Fernando! Let him be," she said.

Fernando broke away to mutter, "You're jealous," and kissed Michael again.

"You're silly," Maricruz replied.

Fernando covered Michael's face in kisses, saying, "I just can't stop! He's so handsome!"

Michael giggled at that, showered in Fernando's affection.

"I think it's my turn," Maricruz said. She spun the bottle and stopped it with her hand. "Oh! Would you look at that. Michael?"

Fernando glanced at the bottle pointing at the two of them and kissed Michael's cheek one more time. "I guess Maricruz wants a piece of you, too," he said.

Maricruz pushed Fernando aside and nipped at Michael's bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth as she glanced at Fernando. Michael turned a new shade of pink. Fernando was clearly jealous from the pout in his lips.

"Baby, don't tease me," he pleaded.

Maricruz released Michael and demanded, "I'm the tease?"

"Don't fight, guys," C-Note said. "Let's play the other game."

"Fine." Fernando took his seat back and said, "Never have I ever..." He smiled genuinely at Maricruz. "Cheated."

"Aw, baby," Maricruz cooed, wrapping her arms around him.

Michael stared at his drink, feeling his fingers twitch.

Ever perceptive, C-Note asked him, "Were you gonna drink? Not cool."

All eyes turned to him. Michael pictured John beneath him, felt him in his mouth, his taste on his tongue. How upset Theodore would be if he knew. How disappointed everyone was in him.

Michael set down his drink and rose unsteadily, blurting out, "I'm sorry, I have to go." He scrambled for the door.

"Papi!" Fernando called.

Michael rushed down the driveway, stopping at the sidewalk to breathe. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in a bruised purple. Fernando trotted after him and grabbed his arm, pulling Michael back.

"I'm sorry," Michael spilled. "I cheated."

Fernando looked concerned. "Is this about me kissing you? 'Cause I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It didn't mean anything, bro."

Michael shook his head, distraught. "I cheated on Teddy with another guy," he confessed. "I'm a terrible person."

Fernando softened. "Teddy…?"

"Theodore. You met him during the food fight."

"Right. Why'd you cheat, Papi? Is he making you unhappy?"

"No," Michael moaned, "It's so bad I don't even want to talk about it."

Fernando frowned. "I know you, Papi. You must've had a reason."

Michael nodded, hanging his head. Fernando held a hand to his cheek. Michael met his eyes.

"Maybe you should tell Teddy," Fernando said.

"He'll hate me," Michael mourned.

"Or he'll understand," Fernando replied.

"Would you understand? If Maricruz cheated on you?"

Fernando's reassuring smile crumbled and Michael looked away. Fernando sighed.

"It's your choice to tell him or not, Papi. But I'm here for you."

Michael, surprising even himself, latched onto him. Fernando chuckled and hugged back.

"I'm sorry about the party," Michael murmured over his shoulder.

"I had fun," Fernando teased.

"I could tell," Michael replied, smiling.

They parted and Fernando tipped his head back towards the house. "You wanna go back in?"

Michael bit his lip. "Tell them I felt sick?"

Fernando clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Alright. I'll walk you home."

"Bro, you don't have to," Michael protested.

"That's not what soulmates would do," Fernando said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Michael laughed and thanked him, glad to have him by his side as he considered his dilemma.

* * *

Lincoln slammed the apartment door behind him, rattling the complex with the force of his actions. His anger hadn't cooled on the drive home. It only grew more red-hot and urgent as the pain in his burned palms spiked with everything he touched. He searched the bathroom for something to wrap his hands in, scowling and throwing a toothbrush holder when he came up with nothing. It shattered against the wall and fell to the tile in pieces.

He settled for two cotton towels and grimaced as he wound his hands in the fabric. No matter how many times Michael insisted he was okay, it was killing Lincoln knowing he wasn't there for him. That Michael doubted his ability to keep his shit together. That his doubt had pushed him to twist his moral code, and he was suffering from regret.

Lincoln sat on the bathroom floor and unwrapped his hands, staring at the blisters that had begun to form until his eyes glazed over. He could only conclude he deserved the pain.

* * *

Michael was surprised to find Lincoln in bed when he came home. He tiptoed into the room and shucked out of his jacket and jeans before climbing into bed as quietly as he could. Slowly, Michael pulled the covers over his shoulders. Lincoln grunted.

Michael stilled and examined his face in the dark to see if he was awake. He found his normally hard features had softened and his eyes were closed. Michael smiled. He let his eyes shut and nearly fell asleep when a sound caught his ear.

_Tap tap._

Michael tensed and listened.

_Tap tap tap. Scriiiiiitchhh!_

Michael turned swiftly and shook Lincoln awake. Lincoln sat up and asked, "What is it?"

"There's a noise!" Michael hissed.

Lincoln listened.

_Tap tap tap._

"There! Someone's knocking on the window!"

Lincoln didn't reply, he just slipped out of bed and moved the blanket covering the window to the side.

"Linc!"

Lincoln waved him over. Michael followed hesitantly. A tree branch knocked against their window with the breeze. Michael felt stupid.

"Sorry," he murmured.

Lincoln put his arm around him. "No one's gonna break in again."

Michael nodded, at ease. Lincoln let the blanket fall and said, "I'll double-check everything just in case." Michael got back in bed as Lincoln checked the front door, then locked their bedroom door for good measure. He laid down again by Michael.

"Everything's secure," he said.

Michael smiled. "Thank you."

_Scriiiitchhhh!_

"That's an awful sound," Michael said.

"I'll trim it tomorrow," Lincoln replied through a yawn. Michael curled a hand under his pillow and put the other around Lincoln. Lincoln returned the gesture and let his eyes fall shut. Michael concentrated on the weight of his arm to distract himself from the disturbing noises and fell asleep to the sounds of his snores.

* * *

The smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls woke Michael up. He was surprised to find them right in front of his nose.

Lincoln lifted the plate of cinnamon rolls above Michael’s head, grinning slyly. “I knew that would work.”

Michael sat up as Lincoln placed a mug of coffee in his hands and a plate in his lap. Sunlight eked into the room through the blanket over the window. He squinted at Lincoln. “Breakfast in bed?”

Lincoln slurped his coffee and kicked up his legs, crossing them in front of him. “I thought you needed a pick-me-up.”

Michael smiled and took a big bite of a cinnamon roll dripping with icing. “Thanks, Linc,” he garbled.

Lincoln hid his smile behind his coffee mug and told him, “Try not to get crumbs everywhere.”

Michael nodded and furrowed his brows, distracted by a bruise on Lincoln’s cheek. He touched it lightly, asking, "What happened here?"

"Our friendly neighborhood pimp," Lincoln replied, stuffing his mouth with the remains of a roll.

"No," Michael said, aghast.

"Yes," Lincoln gloated with fake pride. "You should see him."

Michael sighed. “I really wish you hadn't…”

Lincoln lowered his voice. "I had to. I couldn't let someone get away with hurting you." He reached over and patted Michael's butt. "You're okay, right?"

"Linc, get your hand off my ass."

Lincoln laughed and returned his hands to his breakfast. Michael breathed a laugh himself and said, "I'm fine. Things played out differently than you're imagining."

"Oh?"

"I don't know if I can joke about it, Linc."

Lincoln nodded solemnly and Michael bumped shoulders with him.

"John does have a way with words, though," Michael said.

"What does that mean?" Lincoln asked.

"He called me _bello_."

"Bello, huh? Ciao, bello. I'm Mister Italiano. I make pizza, mamma mia!"

"Linc, no."

"I will make you an offer you can't refuse!"

"Linc—"

"A thousand dollars for my big Italian dick!"

Michael shoved him. "Not funny."

"Really? Was it not big?"

"Bigger than yours."

Lincoln gasped. "How dare you."

Michael huffed.

"You come into my house on the day of my daughter's wedding…"

"Lincoln, shut up!"

He smiled and put his arm around Michael. "I love you, Mike."

"You better watch it," Michael warned, glaring at him. "I might turn into Michael Corleone."

"So?"

"He killed his brother."

"You don't have the guts," Lincoln teased.

“For murder? No. But I might put my sticky fingers on your pillow.” Michael wiggled his icing-covered digits.

Lincoln raised his equally messy hand and warned, "I'll tickle you. No mercy."

Michael's smile faded as he reached out for Lincoln's blistered hand. "Linc?"

"That's, uh..."

"No lies, remember?"

Lincoln set down his plate and showed him his other red palm. "The ovens they have at Abruzzi's are hot."

"He burned you?" Michael asked, wide-eyed.

"No, just threatened to. This was an accident."

Michael frowned and observed Lincoln's hands again. They were warm under his fingertips. "No more macho man, okay?"

"What do you mean?" Lincoln questioned. "I confronted him for you."

"But did it do any good?" Michael asked, concern clear in his eyes.

Lincoln pulled away from him and angrily stuffed his mouth with another cinnamon roll. Michael put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Linc, John is a violent man," he said.

Lincoln's attention snapped back to him. "You said you're alright."

"I am," Michael insisted. "It's you I'm worried about. I've seen what happens when someone makes him mad."

"That's exactly why I told him to stay away from you," Lincoln replied, his voice low and smooth. Michael held his gaze, then said, "Okay. Thank you."

Lincoln's brows pinched together.

"Let's get you taken care of," Michael decided, giving him a push. Lincoln set down his plate and let Michael lead him to the bathroom.

Michael turned the sink handle and ran Lincoln's hands under cold water, drawing a small sigh from him. He patted him dry with a clean towel, then searched under the sink, returning to his full height with a first aid kit in his hands.

"I didn't know we had that," Lincoln muttered.

"Picked one up at your last hospital visit," Michael replied, smiling slightly. Lincoln chuckled and offered his palms to him.

Michael wrapped them in gauze and secured both with a piece of medical tape. "Do you have to work today?" he asked.

Lincoln nodded, flexing his fingers comfortably.

Michael went to their closet and dug through his suitcase, most of which had been unpacked when they first moved into the apartment. He surfaced with a pair of black gloves and handed them to Lincoln, who took them carefully.

"Dad gave these to you," he said.

Michael nodded.

"They'll get ruined if I wear them at work," Lincoln said, handing them back.

Michael took the gloves and tugged them over Lincoln's bandages. "They'll protect you. That's what matters."

Lincoln gave in and hugged Michael, his heart warm again. "I'll be fine. You promise me the same."

Michael pulled back enough to meet his eyes and said, "Of course."

Lincoln glanced at the alarm clock on their nightstand. "We're gonna be late if we don't get moving."

They broke apart and got ready for work and school.

* * *

Lunchtime came without Michael seeing a glimpse of Theodore, not even in his World History class. It saddened him to feel relief at his absence. He swept his eyes across the cafeteria, but didn’t see him anywhere.

Michael noticed the sign for Abruzzi’s catering before he saw John serving students at the lunch counter. Against his better judgment, he got in the pizza line.

John’s smile fell when he looked up from his work and came face to face with Michael. “Hey,” he said.

“Can I talk to you?” Michael asked softly.

John pressed his lips together and reached back for his coworker. He grabbed him by the collar and pulled him away from the ovens so he could take over serving the line of hungry students. John took off his apron and followed Michael out of the cafeteria.

They stood under a tree away from onlookers, sheltered by green leaves and white flowers. John rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t help you again,” he said.

“No,” Michael blurted, “That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

John wore a grim expression. “I think we need to.”

“What?”

“Look, kid, did you tell your brother I hurt you? I wasn’t trying to.”

Michael’s cheeks reddened. “I was just honest with him.”

“Really? Because he seems to think I took advantage.”

Michael crossed his arms and looked across the field, avoiding John's insistent stare. John gave his shoulder a shove.

"Are you listening, kid? This is serious."

Michael turned back to him. "I'm aware."

"You can't go around saying I fucked you."

"I didn't."

"Or that you fucked me."

"I didn't! I only told Lincoln."

John shook his head and let out a breath, somehow more energized when he opened his mouth again. "I could lose my job. I could go to jail! Don't you know this stuff?"

Michael glared at him. "You could have given me a job, but you wanted sex."

"I thought you wanted sex!"

"I only came to you for money."

John huffed. "You're a real piece of work."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

John started to walk away and Michael grabbed his arm. John whirled around.

"What? You got something else to say to me?"

Michael tugged him back under the cover of the tree branches before John wrenched his sleeve out of his grip. Michael sighed. "I just wanted to ask you not to tell Teddy. Not before I do."

John's expression lost its heat, morphing into grief. "Don't tell him."

"He deserves to know," Michael said.

"I've hurt him enough, and you know it wasn't like that," John pleaded.

"That's all I wanted to ask you. Have a nice day, John," Michael said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking away. John chased after him.

"Michael! Michael. Don't," he urged.

Michael turned and faced him. "Why do you care so much?"

John held his shoulders. "You and I know what he's been through. Don't add to that."

"It's too late," Michael choked out. "I made my mistake."

John frowned at him. "What'd you need that money for, anyway? Are you in trouble?"

Michael shook his head, saying, "Just expenses. There's been a lot lately."

"I need you not to tell anyone else about the money, okay?"

"Well, someone broke in and stole it, so don't worry about it."

"Jesus Christ."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, kid. Just keep quiet, alright? I won't bother you if you won't bother me."

Michael rolled his eyes. "I didn't think I was such a burden."

"Your brother came into my shop and assaulted me. I tend to take that seriously."

"I didn't ask him to do that,” Michael said, adding, “Seems like you roughed him up for it.”

John held up his hand, saying, “Don’t ask me to apologize for that—I won’t.”

“Why not?”

John jabbed a finger back and forth between their chests. “Because we’re not friends. That was strictly business, and I don’t see a scratch on you. Show me a bruise, huh?” He grabbed Michael’s arm and held it up to his eyes.

Michael yanked away, gritting his teeth. “That’s not the point.”

"I thought we each got what we wanted."

Michael swallowed. "We did."

"Then that's it. Deal concluded. Finito."

"Just stay away from Lincoln."

"He came to me," John argued.

"Are you done?"

John pushed Michael up against the tree, a hand on his mouth. "Silence is what I need from you. If you can't keep this mouth shut, I will find another way to make it happen. Got it?"

Michael fought the fear rising within him and shoved John's hand away from his face, glaring at him hard. "I won't tell anyone else."

John nodded and let him go, seemingly satisfied. "Good."

Michael blinked a few times before turning to go, his frustration forming tears despite his best efforts. John caught his arm, gentler this time, and pulled Michael close to him. "It wasn't such a bad time for you, was it?"

Michael held his gaze. "No, but this is. I'm going now." He turned away. John tugged him back.

"Let me just say one more thing."

Michael waited.

"I apologize if I took advantage and… It was an honor to be one of your firsts."

Michael’s nerves settled after realizing he was genuine. "Okay."

"No hard feelings?"

"We're good," Michael replied. John clapped a hand to his shoulder and lit up with a sideways smile.

"Alright. See you around, kid."

Michael watched as he went back inside the cafeteria, letting out a deep breath as the doors shut behind him.

* * *

By the end of the day, Michael knew he had to tell Theodore the truth or he would make himself sick with guilt and worry. He walked to his house after school, hoping Theodore had simply ditched school and hadn’t caught a cold or something worse. He stood on his front porch, fighting the last ounce of indecision in him. Michael rang the doorbell swiftly, feeling anxiety prickle up and down his body.

Theodore opened the door and smiled at him. "Couldn't stay away from me for two days, huh?" he teased.

Michael's voice caught in his throat. Theodore's smile fell.

"Something wrong, Pretty?" he asked.

Michael nodded. His heart hammered inside his chest.

Theodore stepped back and let him in, saying, "Mama and I were just having dinner. Do you want to meet her?"

Michael glanced at the kitchen, spying a woman with long brown hair, lighter than Theodore's. He mustered a smile and gave Theodore another nod.

Theodore took his hand and guided Michael to the kitchen table, where his mother was shakily eating a spoonful of mac and cheese.

"I got it, Mama," he said, reaching out to steady her hand. She jerked away from him.

"I can do it!"

Theodore watched as his mother successfully brought the spoon to her mouth and chewed the macaroni. "See?" she said.

Theodore smiled. "You were right, Mama."

She grinned widely, showing off the food in her mouth. She had almond eyes that didn't match Theodore's, and round cheeks that made her smile all the more endearing.

Theodore cleared his throat. Michael realized he was staring.

"Mama, this is Michael," he said. "My boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" she gasped. She stood and hugged Michael tight, swaying from side to side. "I'm so happy for you, Teddy!"

Theodore laughed. "Mama, you can let him go now."

She did, after pressing a kiss to Michael's forehead. Michael smiled back at her.

"It's an honor to meet you, Mrs. Bagwell," he said.

"He's so polite," she said to Theodore, taking her seat again. "Tell him to stay."

Theodore was blushing. "Pretty, will you stay for dinner?"

Michael felt his guilt all the more deeply. "I have to tell you something," he said, "in private."

Theodore nodded, looking somber, and smoothed a hand over his mother's hair. "I'll be right back, Mama. Keep on eatin' your dinner."

"Okay, Teddy," she replied.

Theodore led Michael to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. "What's the bad news?" he asked, arms crossed.

Michael opened his mouth and took a breath. "I cheated on you," he said.

Theodore's face quirked into an odd expression. "What?"

"I cheated on you, Teddy. I'm so sorry."

Theodore pointed at him and smiled. "Is this some kind of early April Fool’s joke? Because I believed you for a second."

Michael knew he didn't deserve to cry anymore, but he still felt the urge. "I'm telling you the truth," he said, "It happened on Saturday."

Theodore's good humor was replaced by something dark and dangerous. "You slept with someone else?"

"I'm sorry—"

Theodore grabbed him and threw him to the floor. Michael barely caught himself before Theodore had him pinned.

"Was it Alex?" he spat.

"No—"

"Liar!"

Theodore hit him. Pain shocked into his bones.

"It was John!" Michael blurted.

Theodore's fist stilled. "No," he breathed.

"Yes! It was John! I needed money. He paid me."

Tears pooled in Theodore's eyes. "You called me," he said slowly, "To ask my permission. Didn't you?"

"I didn't feel like I had a choice," Michael answered. 

"You chose him!"

"I was wrong! I didn't want him. I still don't."

"You let him fuck you, but not me," Theodore accused.

"He didn't fuck me," Michael said.

Theodore's glare turned wicked. "Oh, I see. You fucked him? He gave you what I wouldn't?"

"It wasn't about us, Teddy!”

"It wasn't about us? You fucked someone else!"

"It was for money. I was scared to death the whole time," Michael spilled.

"You think that makes it all fine and dandy? You whored yourself out and I'm supposed to be okay with it?"

Michael shook his head. "I'm sor—"

Theodore slapped him. "I hate you!"

Michael caught his wrist but Theodore pulled out of his grip and hit him again, his hand curled into a fist. "You disgusting whore. I bet you enjoyed it!"

Again, across his cheek.

"Tell me I'm wrong," Theodore accused.

Michael didn't answer, still reeling from the last strike. Theodore grimaced, his fist crashing into Michael's eye.

"I trusted you!"

Michael shielded his face with his arms. Theodore only continued the barrage of blows.

"I thought you loved me!"

Michael’s heart ached. "Teddy, I do love you! Please forgive me!"

Theodore wrenched his arms out of the way and spat on him. "How's that for forgiveness?"

Michael burst into tears. Theodore got up and kicked him. 

"Get out of my house!"

"Teddy—"

"Now!"

Michael forced himself to his feet and moved through the house by memory, blinded by blood and tears. Theodore's mom looked frightened.

"Teddy, what's going on?"

"Michael is leaving."

"He's hurt," she said.

"He's going to the doctor," Theodore outright lied.

Michael put a hand on the front door, stuttering out, "Good—bye, m-Mrs. Bagwell."

Theodore shoved him. "Out!"

Michael left and tried to hold in his tears until he got to the apartment door. He slammed it behind him on his way to his bed and flopped down, curling up small with his stuffed bunny pressed to his wet and sticky face. Stormy came to investigate, nudging him with her nose.

"Just let me sleep," he told her, hiccupping through the words.

Stormy sat beside him and tucked her paws underneath her, purring softly. Michael closed his eyes and cried himself to sleep.

"Sleeping kinda early, huh? Or is it a late nap? …Mikey?"

Lincoln's hand closed around his shoulder, drawing him out of his dreamless sleep. He turned to look at his brother, making him gasp.

"Mike, what happened?" Lincoln demanded. "Who did this to you?"

"Teddy," Michael whispered, moving to face the wall. "I told him what I did."

Lincoln pulled Michael into his arms and tipped his chin up, turning his face from side to side. Michael's cheek was bruised and bloody, his eye swollen.

"This isn't okay," Lincoln said, putting both arms around him.

"I deserved it," Michael replied, feeling sick with himself.

Lincoln revealed a hint of the rage boiling just under the surface at all times. "No, you didn't."

"I am a whore," Michael cried.

Lincoln gripped Michael's chin. "Listen to me, Mikey. He doesn't get to hit you, no matter what you did." He let go of his chin and stroked his cheek, his voice soft. "You're not a whore. You thought John Abruzzi was your best option, and you took it."

"But I enjoyed it," Michael moaned.

"Sweetheart," Lincoln said, the name he usually reserved for Veronica. "I know how torn up about this you've been."

"I even asked him if we could do it again!"

Lincoln caught a tear with his thumb before it slipped down Michael's cheek. "You do not look like someone who enjoyed it, Michael."

The sound he made tore at Lincoln's heart and Michael hid his face in his shoulder. "I did, I did, I did…"

Lincoln let his fingers drift through Michael's hair slowly, wondering what he could possibly say to make it better. "First times can be intense," he murmured. "Maybe you enjoyed it physically, which is only human, Mikey. But your heart wasn't in it." He patted Michael's chest. "You love Teddy, yeah?"

"He hates me," Michael sniffled, "He wouldn't stop hitting me."

Lincoln kissed his temple. "I'm sorry, buddy. He shouldn't have reacted that way."

Michael put his arms around Lincoln's neck. "I just want to crawl in a hole and die," he said.

"Don't say things like that."

"It's how I feel," Michael argued. "I hate that I cheated on Teddy. That I met his mom and scared her with my bloody face."

"Teddy's mom was there? Why didn't she do anything to stop him?"

"I think she has Down syndrome," Michael said.

Lincoln furrowed his brows and cupped his hands to Michael's cheeks. "You have to let him go. He has too much going on right now."

"He needs our help," Michael insisted.

"He needs therapy," Lincoln countered. "You can't fix him with love. You're only going to get hurt."

"But I hurt him," Michael said.

Lincoln bit his lip. "He ended it when he hit you, Mikey. You know that doesn't stop."

Michael remembered the redness in Lincoln's cheek that bloomed whenever Christina slapped him. There was a little scar on his left cheek where her wedding ring had scratched him once. Michael smoothed his thumb over it.

"I want a redo," Michael announced.

Lincoln gazed at him. "I would give you one if I could."

Michael smiled, just for a second. "You still love me?"

"Always will," Lincoln replied.

"I'm sorry I'm a screw-up.”

"You are not a screw-up," Lincoln said. "It was one mistake. You're stronger than that."

Michael breathed out and relaxed against him.

"You need ice," Lincoln said. Michael started to get up, but Lincoln stopped him. "I'll get it," he said, "You rest."

Michael laid back down as Lincoln got up. He returned with a bundle of ice and a towel to clean Michael's face. Michael reached for it. Lincoln pulled the towel out of his grip.

"I got it, Mikey," he insisted.

Michael smiled softly and let Lincoln wipe the blood from his face. The towel was warm and Lincoln was gentle. He held the ice pack to Michael's eye.

"Mmm," Michael groaned.

"Feel better?" Lincoln asked.

"A little. Can I get another one of these?" Michael said, tapping the ice pack.

"Sure." Lincoln went to the kitchen and made another with a dish towel and a few handfuls of ice. He brought it to Michael and Michael pressed it to his side. Lincoln frowned.

"Do you need to go to the doctor?" he asked.

Michael closed his eyes. "I'm okay."

Lincoln held Michael's hand. "I don't want to see you hurt like this again," he said.

"I understand," Michael mumbled.

"Enjoy being single for a while," Lincoln advised. "Or go out with somebody nice. Like Sara."

Michael's face twisted as he argued, "I can't just move on to someone else. Teddy was here in this bed with me—" His voice turned to gravel, "just a few days ago."

Lincoln watched his eyes turn dewy.

"I thought I was doing right by him. Looking back, I see all the times I should have done things differently. I hurt him so badly. It's all because of me." Michael let his ice packs sit beside him and bent forward, crying over his crossed arms.

Lincoln touched his shoulder lightly at first, then pulled Michael close despite the sound of protest he made. He cupped Michael's cheek. "Listen, Mikey. You can't let this crush you."

"Are you telling me not to feel?"

Lincoln smiled a little at the hint of sass in Michael's words, even when his expression was entirely serious. "I'm saying you feel things very deeply, and that's okay. But holding onto them isn't good for you."

Michael blinked at him as Lincoln smoothed his thumb under his eyes. "I don't know how to let go,” he admitted.

Lincoln picked up the ice pack and returned it to Michael's swollen eye, lips parted as he took a deep breath. "You need to realize that you're not the only one in the wrong today."

Michael's gaze fell to his blankets. He gave Lincoln a nod.

"You're also not responsible for his dad's actions," Lincoln said. "You couldn't have prevented it."

"But—"

Lincoln tightened his grip on Michael's arm. "It was happening before you met him. Now his dad can't get to him. That  _is_  because of you."

"But he doesn't—" Michael sniffled, "love me anymore."

Lincoln relaxed and put his arm around Michael's middle. "You see, I just don't think that's possible."

Michael smiled slightly. 

"I'm sorry I mentioned Sara," Lincoln muttered.

"Somebody nice, you said," Michael stated.

"Because you don't deserve this," Lincoln said, adjusting the ice pack over Michael’s brow. “I want you to be safe when I’m not around.”

Michael was quiet for a while, thinking, or rather, trying not to as Lincoln attempted to subdue the swelling that stretched from his forehead to his jawline. Stormy butted into his hand and Michael gave her a few pats. His cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

Lincoln raised his brows. “Ask.”

"Did you tell Veronica? About Gretchen?"

"No," he said firmly.

"Did it cross your mind?"

"I'm not heartless, Mike."

"I know you felt guilty. That's why you told me."

"I didn't tell her because it didn't mean anything."

"But it happened."

Lincoln closed his eyes and said, "I didn't want to disappoint her. I do that enough."

Michael's lips parted. "How?"

Lincoln shrugged. "It's just how I am."

Michael examined the drawn look in Lincoln's face and put his arm around him. Lincoln continued.

"I mean, she didn't want me to be the father of her child. I don't know how I could sink lower."

Michael took a breath and said, "Linc, Veronica didn't want to be a teen mom. It wasn't about you."

"I don't know..."

"She was scared," Michael said, "She wouldn't still be with you if she didn't love you for who you are."

Lincoln took a moment and nodded.

"I'm here if you need someone to talk to," Michael offered, making Lincoln smile.

“You want to be my therapist?”

Michael rolled his eyes. "I like to hear your thoughts. Know what's going on in my brother's head."

"I'll do my best," Lincoln answered, setting down the ice pack and hugging Michael briefly. “You ready for dinner?”

“Depends,” he said, “Are there any more cinnamon rolls?”

“There’s ice cream,” Lincoln suggested, smiling.

“That’ll work,” Michael said, smiling back. He followed Lincoln to the kitchen.


End file.
